


Eomer and the Elves

by Jaye_Voy



Category: The Lord of the Rings (Movies)
Genre: Adult Content, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, No Incest, Threesome - M/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-17
Updated: 2016-04-21
Packaged: 2018-06-02 21:39:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 25,464
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6583564
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jaye_Voy/pseuds/Jaye_Voy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Elrond's sons pursue the young King of Rohan.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> No incest---the twins are sharing a lover but are not sexually interested in each other. Set during and after "Return of the King". Sort of a blend of bookverse (the twins were aboard the corsair ships, Arwen arrived after the coronation) and movieverse (the White Tree blooms again with Aragorn's return), but no promises of canon accuracy.  
> Originally written in 2007. Although there are some tweaks, the story's contents (and its flaws) are mostly intact.  
> The Lord of the Rings and all related characters and concepts are the property of J.R.R. Tolkien.

There was no flash of sun on metal to catch Elrohir's eye. The Pelennor Fields were painted with the pall of Mordor---leaden clouds had conquered the skies of Gondor, while a paler gray haze of smoke and ash from the burning of Minas Tirith drifted beneath.

Yet his gaze was drawn, just the same. He crouched, hidden behind the railing of the corsair ship. Unwilling, perhaps unable to move; only dimly aware of his fingers pressing into the weathered wood beneath his hands. His entire being was fixed upon an unmoving mounted warrior, an island in the teeming sea of orc and oliphaunt, horse and man. The swipes and slashes, stabs and jabs and jerks of both friend and foe were crests in the churning ocean of bodies. The screech of metal upon metal and thud of flesh upon flesh multiplied ten-thousand-fold, crashed waves upon ears too familiar with the sounds of war. With every breath he could taste the blood and ichor that soaked ground he had yet to tread.

The man---to Elrohir's elven-keen sight a weary member of the Rohirrim, blood red and black streaking golden hair---was staring at the corsair ships. No doubt believing they carried his doom.

And then...the warrior raised his sword. Defiant, futile, a final challenge to his enemy, maybe even to the slack-jawed specter of Death itself.

Elrohir's breath caught, then his lips twitched and curved into a grin too seldom seen. If he'd still held any hope the Valar listened to the prayers of elves or men, he'd have asked a blessing upon this fierce Rider of Rohan.

As it was, he could only hope that chance and the horselord's skill would keep closed the Halls of Mandos.

"Who is he?" Elladan's voice beside him did not startle. His twin was ever at his side when battle was about to be joined.

"Éomer son of Éomund," Aragorn answered behind them, the affection in his tone telling Elrohir of friendship forged between Dúnedain and Eorling.

Aragorn spoke on, "He doesn't know we bring aid to his troops and our cause." He shifted, boots a muffled scuff against the deck as he turned to speak to one of the Grey Company. "Raise the flag---let the White Tree proclaim to all that the Heir of Isildur is finally home."

Elrohir exhaled in a long sigh as both he and Elladan stood to watch the revelation of the ships' true passengers wash over the assembled host of men and beasts.

This time a sound kept his attention anchored: the roar of Éomer's laughter. It floated over the fetid air as the Rohir launched his sword to the sky. He caught the hilt as it returned and dipped the weapon in salute before he urged his mount into the throng, wielding the blade with deadly accuracy. While *singing*.

Elrohir's bemused grunt was echoed by Elladan. Then Elrohir's hands dropped to his belt to check weapons and gear, his mind now given entirely to the forthcoming battle.

But he would remember...

************************************************************  
************************************************************

Elladan hated the waiting. Bloodlust simmered in his veins as his horse shifted beneath him, reflecting his tension. It shook its head, brown mane flapping, and his hand automatically reached out to stroke his mount's arching neck. His soothing whisper was lost in the creak of leather and metal and the shuffle of hooves and boots on the hard ground as man and beast braced for battle.

The massive Black Gate brooded above the Armies of the West, its shadow inescapable. Although the destiny of each individual warrior would play out here in a clash of blades, the fate of all of Middle-Earth would be decided within the heart of Mordor itself. The future rested upon the weary backs of two brave Hobbits. And the time needed to complete their mission would be bought by the men of Gondor and Rohan, purchased with selfless courage and spilled blood.

Movement in the first rank of horses caught Elladan's attention as a small party approached the Gate. His gaze lingered upon the youngest of that group, Éomer of Rohan. The new-minted king had proven himself a leader of men on the grim march to Mordor. Elladan had watched Éomer on the dark nights of the journey, walking among the Rohirrim as they huddled around meager fires. Bolstering hearts that quailed at the thought of this last desperate battle, akin to Aragorn's nightly strengthening of the Gondorian soldiers' morale.

Elladan understood the men's fear---in the depths his being, he shared it, more now than in all the years he had spent hunting orcs with Elrohir. The scale of carnage he'd witnessed on the Pelennor, what he knew he'd see again at the Black Gate, had brought home to him an immutable truth: In war, mortal and immortal lives were ended just as easily by the strike of a lucky arrow or blade. All warriors were at the mercy of indifferent fate.

Yet looking at Éomer now, one would think the young Rohir had never known such qualms. It was difficult to imagine the broad shoulders bowed in weariness, the handsome, bearded face creased with care.

Surely none of the Rohirrim had seen Éomer hidden in the shadows beyond the fires, staring at nothing as the burdens of grief and unexpected kingship ravaged his features and slumped his tall frame.

Elladan would not have seen it, either, if he had not stumbled upon Éomer during his own search for solitude in the darkness. He'd not revealed his presence, but forgot his own cares as he watched Éomer's struggle. Every night, Elladan would wait until the moment Éomer wrestled down his morbid thoughts, took a deep breath, and stood tall and straight once more. The power of the Rohir's will set like a mantle upon his shoulders, his spirit shining bright and fierce for all to see.

Strange comfort, but comfort nonetheless. And all the more soothing as Elladan had sensed his twin nearby each time, sharing the vigil.

As Éomer and the others returned to the ranks, Elladan glanced to his right to meet Elrohir's eyes. Saw his feelings as well as his features mirrored in his brother's face, and the determination to destroy the evil that had plagued the land for far too long.

He drew his sword as the Black Gate crept open with a rumble that seemed to grind along his bones.

A last flash of golden hair caught his eye as an angry cry rose from thousands upon thousands of throats as the forces of good and evil launched themselves into this last battle.

Then all other sound and sense was lost as the bloodlust in his veins roared into rage...

************************************************************  
************************************************************

Éomer let a sigh slip from his mouth as he lowered himself to the grass and settled his back against the White Tree. He'd stolen away from the farewell feast, pausing at his suite only long enough to clean his teeth and shed his ornamental cloak and well-polished armor. Then with stealthy steps he'd made his way to the Court of the Fountain, craving nature's embrace as much as any elf. Part of him wished he could shed boots, socks, braies, breeches, and thin linen shirt, roll to his back and shimmy in the short grass like a colt on a spring morn. But decorum demanded he satisfy himself with the clothes-muffled scratch of bark against his spine and the prickle of new grass under his stretched-out legs as he crossed his ankles. One hand rested on his thigh while the other flopped to the ground, spread fingers sinking into the turf.

He hated this city of stone. The sun failed to light and warm too many of Minas Tirith's twisting, turning corridors. Even the wind was denied passage, unable to carry scents from the fields and forests so far below. Instead Éomer found his nose too oft assaulted by the cloying perfumes the nobles of Gondor doused themselves with. He avoided the ostentation of the screeching peacocks and hens as often as he could, escaping to the stables, the Houses of Healing, or the Rohirrim encampment at the base of the mountain. And to the few gardens tucked within the courtyards of the palace. Especially this place of water, wind, and wood. And the green grass that spoke to him of home.

He wondered how Aragorn was faring, the free-striding ranger now encaged in marble rooms, jewel-encrusted robes, and the strict etiquette of the royal court. Éomer knew he would go mad if he were forced to spend his life here. He was barely managing the few weeks needed to heal his sister and his troops ere he could return to the bright skies and wide plains of Rohan. The time had passed far too slowly, but it *had* passed. Come the dawn he would be on the road home.

Éomer knew part of his restlessness was guilt. It had descended upon him in the aftermath of the battle at the Black Gate, and he had yet to shake loose from its grip. All around him Middle-Earth rejoiced at the fall of Sauron---and in truth he, too, was glad that the Riddermark had survived the years of travail.

But he was also grieving the loss of so many...friends he'd had since boyhood, warriors he'd striven to emulate in skill and spirit. Theodred, more brother than cousin. Theoden, as dear to his heart as the parents he'd lost so long ago. How was it that Éomer was the one who survived without a scratch, when so many good men had fallen? How could he possibly be the ruler of all Rohan? And how could he find the wisdom and strength to lead his people in their recovery?

"I would have expected to find a prince of elves communing with the White Tree, not a king of men." The voice came from Éomer's right, and he shivered at the "silvery" sound of it. It was the only word he could think of---the light sharp tone reminded him of a swift stream cutting through a bank of new-fallen snow.

His suspicion of the speaker's identity was confirmed when Elrohir stepped into view. From the moment he'd met the sons of Elrond, Éomer had been able to tell them apart---much to Eowyn's chagrin. Though the twins had probably emerged identical from their mother's womb, life had fashioned differences of experience and personality. Not so much in the lines of frowns and smiles that would mark the faces of men, but in the way they held themselves, the gestures of their slim hands, the expressions on their faces...even their voices were subtly individual. Or so it seemed to him.

Éomer attempted to push aside the shroud of dark thoughts that had encloaked him, offering a smile. "The need for fresh air drew me here. If the elven claim that all living things have speech is true, I'm afraid the Tree has had to make do this night with a most inattentive audience."

He drew his legs in and levered himself to his feet, the back of his shirt pulling slightly on the rough bark. Glad for the distraction from his reverie. Some part of his mind noted that Elrohir had also discarded his finery, clad only in boots, trousers, and long tunic as black as his rain-straight hair. The dark garb made Elrohir's pale skin and gray eyes seem even brighter in the moonlight.

Éomer reminded himself not to stare at Elrohir's long, narrow features, or catalog the way the slope of eyebrows, nose, and chin seemed to reflect the upswept tips of delicate ears exposed by Elrohir's warrior braids.

Elrohir had made no reply, but approached with silent steps until only handspans separated them. Éomer felt his own muscles tense; not even the knowledge that Elrohir was a trusted ally could suppress warrior instincts honed over long years of battle. This close, he could see the shadows cast by Elrohir's lashes, the liquid shine in the slanted corners of gray eyes. Éomer swallowed.

"I have a boon to ask of you, Éomer of Rohan," Elrohir said, his steady gaze offering no clues.

Éomer blinked, puzzlement drawing his brows together. What could Elrohir possibly require of him? He asked the question aloud, his hair sliding along his left shoulder as his head tilted slightly with the inquiry.

In answer, Elrohir moved even closer, one fine-boned hand rising to claim a lock of Éomer's hair, thumb stroking the captured strands. "A kiss, bright king."

The wind whistled through Éomer's suddenly emptied head. That men, warriors, sometimes shared their bedrolls and blankets was not unknown to him. But to have such an eldritch creature even begin to regard him in that fashion was a surprise indeed. Especially now, when battle and the bloodlust that oft spurred such attentions were a month gone. In the time Éomer had spent with Elrohir---in the march to the Black Gate and all the days thereafter---they had passed much conversation and found camaraderie between them, but there had been no hint of desire.

Éomer's eyes focused on Elrohir, and was surprised again to find himself closely studied, anticipation clear in Elrohir's gaze. Elrohir's slow strokes of Éomer's hair had not stopped, and Éomer drifted forward the fingerbreadths that separated their faces, scenting wine and mint on the breath that caressed his skin.

Up close, so close, faint signs of time were laid plain on Elrohir's glowing face. He aged slowly, like his father, but shadows hinted at the places where lines may form, centuries hence. Then all was dark as Éomer's eyes closed, just as Elrohir's hand tangled further in his hair. A faint pressure on the back of his head had Éomer tilting into the first brush of lips.

He shivered at the slight coolness of Elrohir's touch, and wondered if that was true perception or illusion wrought by his own heated flesh. For a flush was upon his face, a hitch in his breathing. A tingle made its way down his spine as lips dry and firm slid along his. His own mouth shaped the edges of his teeth as Elrohir grew bolder. The hand in Éomer's hair clenched into a fist that pulled and tangled the strands, the slight prickle of pain in Éomer's scalp somehow making the moment more real. A gap sundered the seam of his mouth without volition. An offering, an opportunity.

Elrohir's sigh passed breath into Eomer's lungs through their joined lips. Éomer brought his arms up, fingers learning the strength of Elrohir's biceps in a gentle clutch. He leaned against the tree, letting it take his weight as he drew Elrohir closer. A gasp escaped as Elrohir's tongue ventured forth, long licks discovering the taste of Éomer as he learned Elrohir's flavor.

Their mouths mated in a languid slide of lips upon lips, tongues entwining and disengaging as hasty breaths slipped through chance gaps. Éomer felt Elrohir's free hand wedging itself between Éomer's back and the bark, the press of Elrohir's palm and fingers veiled by Éomer's shirt.

A disgruntled sound forced its way from Éomer's throat as he tugged at Elrohir's arms, pulling Elrohir's slim form into the vee of his own legs. Hard muscle and bone, tendon, and sinew imprinted onto Éomer's body, but the touch of skin to skin was denied by clothes made too tight and too heavy by awakening need.

A soft moan issued from Elrohir's throat as he settled back onto his heels, drawing away. Éomer already missed the weight of strong thighs, slim hips, long torso, silk-smooth chin and cheek, and finally, firm lips. The taste of Elrohir lingered on Éomer's tongue as he opened his eyes, breaths still jerky. His hands had allowed Elrohir's withdrawal, sliding from biceps to elbows to cradle the sharp joints in his palms.

He had no words, his mind dazed with mists of want and heat and hunger. He swallowed, stared at Elrohir's eerily handsome face, somehow glowing even brighter in the unchanged light of the moon. Éomer had no sense of how much time had passed, or how long night would still hold sway.

Elrohir's wide mouth curled, a bow gracefully drawn. His hands retreated, fingers combing through Éomer's hair until the last strands slipped free. "Thank you," Elrohir said, then turned and glided from the courtyard.

It took some moments for Éomer to abandon the support of the White Tree and find his feet again.

*************** 

Éomer made his way along the corridor to his suite. No openings granted entry to the moon; instead the smooth stone walls arched into darkness above, beyond the flickering spheres of brightness cast by torches set in iron sconces. Closed doors stood sentry on either side, the pattern broken by occasional niches holding statuary and other decorative oddments that would have had no place in Meduseld.

His thoughts had yet to calm, though his body had quieted ere he left the Court of the Fountain. The encounter with Elrohir was unexpected, unsought...yet his mind traced the edges of the memory, affixing details more firmly ere they be lost.

Between one step and the next, he was plucked from the corridor and his back slammed against the far wall of a darkened hollow. His breath left him in a whoosh of surprise, but hands long trained for defense had already come up between the arms that pressed his shoulders to the stone.

Ere Éomer could strike the blow that would have freed him from his captor's grip, a body shoved up against his. An unrelenting hand darted up to grasp his jaw, fingers pressing into the joint to force open his lips.

A mouth pressed hard to his, tongue flicking against the edges of his teeth, dipping into the sensitive pocket behind his bottom lip. He stayed his retaliation, for the stranger's scent was somewhat familiar. As was the weight grinding into his own, in a rhythm oft found between bodies in the night.

He grunted and shifted his arms down, fingers grasping the masculine angles of hips and thighs. Another moment and his hands had wandered further, to tight buttocks encased in close-fitting trousers beneath a long tunic.

Harsh breaths sounded in Éomer's ears, but whether the source was himself or his ravisher---or both---he could not say. The hand at his jaw trailed down to loosely wrap around his throat, fingertips teasing the hairs of his beard. He immediately nipped at a firm bottom lip, a dare that was answered with scraping teeth and an impudent tongue again exploring Éomer's mouth as if the territory was already claimed and conquered.

For heated moments Éomer allowed the kiss that was part duel, his body aflame once more. Then with a growl he reached up to fist a hank of soft hair, yanking back as he shoved his captor out of the niche and into the torchlight. "Elladan," he said, no surprise in his tone.

"Call me to the field of combat if you must assuage your offended sensibilities, but I will not beg your pardon." Elladan's voice was steely, the liquid rush of his brother's tones solidified to a harder edge. He still panted, the gray rings of his eyes swallowed by inky centers in the dimness. Éomer was conscious of the wild race of his pulse against Elladan's palm where it still rested against Éomer's skin.

"Your offense was in the undertaking of the maneuver---I seek no recompense for the kiss itself," Éomer retorted as he pulled harder on Elladan's hair, arching the long pale throat. The rush of ardor was receding, slowly, but anger was trickling in. "I would know if you oft feel the need to invade territory your brother has already visited."

Elladan relaxed in Éomer's hold, his smirk a scimitar's curve. "We share many of the same likes, dislikes---and desires." His hand stroked down Éomer's throat, thumb folding to press the knuckle into flesh. His eyes still blazed with the heat of the encounter. "And I had no intention of greeting the sun without your scent, your taste engraved upon my memory."

Éomer found his lips quirking at the unabashed impudence in Elladan's expression. He lifted a brow. "And you believed an ambush to be a better means to that end than a request?"

Elladan merely shrugged. But the sudden softening of his features surprised Éomer, as did the caress of cool fingertips against his cheek. A moment of silence hung between them, then Elladan slid from Éomer's grip and retreated down the corridor, leaving Éomer alone.


	2. Chapter 2

Éomer settled a gauntleted fist on his hip as he shifted in the saddle. Firefoot's reins dangled loosely from his right hand---Éomer's guidance was hardly needed for a sedate walk along a straight smooth path. He still felt uneasy without his spear at the ready, even after three months of peace.

But he was learning---painfully---that politics was largely a matter of appearances. And that a king wishing to instill confidence in his people did *not* lead his predecessor's funeral procession armed to the teeth. At least, not obviously so. He *was* still well-equipped with Guthwine at his side, and he'd merely traded the spear for a bow and quiver. But the latter were strapped to the saddle, out of immediate sight and thus out of most people's minds.

He flexed his shoulders with a silent groan, feeling the sweat trickle down his back and sides. Summer in Gondor brought heavy heat that baked his flesh within an oven of mail and leather armor. How he longed for the breezes sweeping across Rohan's plains. Even Edoras was bearable, the water that flowed through its heart fast and cool as it sprung from earthen depths.

But his home was still some days away, along a slow, sad road. The collection of dignitaries from all good peoples of Middle-Earth was creeping north to the rhythm of a dirge. Ponderous, measured steps that matched the creaks of the wagon carrying Theoden's corpse. Éomer had no need to glance back to know that the Holbytla Meriadoc sat tall at his post. Guarding Theoden's weapons with a devotion that brought the hint of a smile to Éomer's face and an ache to his heart.

Despite the months spent assessing the damage wrought by Saruman's and Sauron's forces and all that was needed to set Rohan to rights, Éomer had yet to truly accept Theoden's death. Though he himself had seen the light pass from Theoden's eyes, Éomer still expected Theoden to sweep through the doors of Meduseld and order his impertinent sister-son from the throne.

As for Theodred...Éomer couldn't help but think of his cousin and find himself lacking. Though Éomer was as well-lettered as any member of the House of Eorl, he keenly felt his inexperience when it came to acting---*being* a sovereign.

And he believed his people were withholding judgment on their new-crowned king. Waiting for him to either prove himself, or prove himself a failure. The Eorlingas were stiff-necked and stubborn, but their loyalty once earned was as sure and certain as the stone upon which Edoras was built.

He knew that none would question his authority, but he doubted that he inspired devotion akin to what had brought so many Riders to Harrowdale at Theoden's call. He could sense the constant scrutiny he was under. The eyes seeming to strip him bare as he spoke with village leaders, led council meetings---even as he escorted Theoden King's bier home.

Here, now, eyes were upon him...Rohirric, Gondorian, Istari, Elven, Holbytlan...Peredhil.

Éomer didn't turn his head, but he knew both Elrohir and Elladan were part of the Rivendell contingent riding behind him. The sons of Elrond had drifted into his thoughts from time to time over the months since that strange night each had claimed a kiss. Yet neither had taken the opportunity on this journey from the Mundberg to steal another moment with Éomer. They were genial enough in the gatherings around the cookfires each night, but the conversations were general, not personal, in nature.

Perhaps their interest had waned. That likelihood brought a pang of disappointment, though at the time Éomer had found the attention as unnerving as it was exciting.

Shaking off pointless speculations, Éomer straightened in the saddle and brought both hands to the reins. He scanned the road ahead, the grasses beside the lane of hard-packed dirt wilting in the late afternoon heat. Sunset would bring the group to the campground chosen for this night: a pleasant meadow beside a stream, near a stand of trees in full summer leaf.

No dangers seemed to lurk along the path ahead. Éomer glanced to his left and signaled Eothain to draw even. "Firefoot needs exercise ere he goes mad with the convoy's hobbled pace." He grinned slightly as the big gray stallion perked up, bobbing his head and almost dancing his agreement. "I'm going to ride ahead to the campsite. Keep formation."

Under his helm, Eothain's broad, sun-flushed brow crinkled in concern beside the weave of thick flaxen braids, though his pale blue eyes shone with sympathy. "Do you mean to go alone, Éomer King?" There was only a hint of caution in the question, but Éomer suspected confirmation of that intent would bring more overt censure.

"My brother and I would be honored to offer our swords for Éomer King's protection," Elrohir spoke up as he and Elladan rode abreast, one on a blue roan and the other astride a mount of deep brown.

Éomer had reservations about the innocence that shone in both sets of gray eyes, but it was not enough to deter his escape. "I would be honored to accept your service," he replied with a slight bow that was returned by the pair. He glanced at Eothain as he teased, "I trust that will satisfy your need to coddle?"

A huff was his only answer, as Eothain rolled his eyes and wheeled his bay to convey his liege's plans to the rest of the guard.

Éomer turned back to Elrohir and Elladan. "Shall we go?" He didn't wait for a reply, instead giving Firefoot his head. The stallion leapt forward and quickly settled into a ground-eating canter as Éomer tilted his face into the breeze created by their passage.

His grin widened as Elrohir's and Elladan's horses pulled even with Firefoot. The half-elves' mounts were almost as tall as his own, but built along slimmer lines. Still, they seemed to have no problem with the pace or the weight of their riders.

He had the wind, the sun, his sword, his horse, a sure road, and worthy companions to share it with.

For the moment, Éomer was content.

************************************************************

All too soon they reached the chosen campsite. Éomer slowed Firefoot to a walk, letting the stallion wander beneath the trees to cool off. The twins seemed to have the same idea, their mounts falling into line in front and behind as all three horses picked their way along an animal track. The ground was a mix of dark earth and low-growing plants showing vivid green where the sun found its way through the canopy. A fallen tree was slowly decomposing, the stench of its decay sickly sweet in the air, half-moon mushrooms clinging to its trunk where the bark had yet to crumble away.

The rush of water mingled with the songs of birds and drone of insects to create a sleepy hum that accompanied the sun's pass from afternoon to evening. Éomer cast his eyes over the surroundings, detecting no evil-minded interlopers secreted among the trees. He was careful not to let his gaze linger overlong on Elrohir's spear-straight back or fall of night-dark hair.

The horses' steps were muffled by moss and mud. Elladan's voice behind him startled Éomer slightly as it cut through nature's doze. "You have a fine seat, horselord."

Éomer glanced over his shoulder. Apparently Elladan had no compunction about staring at *him*. Or perhaps he was merely being polite. "My thanks," he responded, wariness quirking his brows and his tone.

Firefoot snorted and shook his head as they entered a clearing beside the stream, the water foaming slightly as it pattered over a scattering of small, flat rocks. The canopy of the surrounding trees stretched far enough to leave them in the shade. Éomer dismounted and pulled a cloth and currycomb from his saddlebags. He drew off his gauntlets as well, tucking them into his belt ere stroking Firefoot's neck. He scratched under the heavy mane, pleased to note the gray hide was not overly damp or warm.

As he began to divest Firefoot of tack, he noticed both Elladan and Elrohir dismount and begin to do the same. So far as he could tell, they did not need reins or saddle to keep astride their mounts, but their horses did have blankets and packs slung across their backs.

Éomer wiped down Firefoot and watched the twins out of the corner of his eye, admiring their grace and the economy of their movements. They were tall, slim, and strong, clad in leggings, boots, and tunics of whatever fine stuff the elves wore. Again, in unrelieved black.

His thoughts tumbled much like the water over the rocks, an incoherent rambling offering no topics for conversation. He focused on giving Firefoot a quick but thorough brushing, checking the stallion's legs and hooves ere turning him loose with a slap on the rump.

Firefoot eyed him a moment ere giving another snort and heading over to the stream. Éomer set his equipment aside and removed his helm ere strolling to the water himself. He hunkered down and plunged his hands in, scrubbing them together. Then he cupped his hands and brought up a measure of water to splash his face, gasping at the shock of coolness against his skin.

He speared his fingers through his hair to dry them. Opened his eyes to find himself bracketed, Elladan kneeling on his left and Elrohir on his right. He backed up a step to put both within the fullness of his view. He was all too aware of the way he smelled of sweat and horse, of the redness of his face and of the untidy tangle of his hair.

Of course the twins looked as if they'd spent the day languishing in this woodland glade. Embarrassment heated Éomer's cheeks further, made him thrust out his jaw as he demanded, "What do you want of me?"

"Are you as forthright in your passion as you are in your speech, bright king?" Elrohir asked, no amusement in his steady gaze. "For that is what I want."

Éomer stilled, taken aback that his bald question would engender such a bold answer. He glanced over at Elladan, who nodded and added, "I, as well."

He settled back on his haunches, looking from one to other. He should not be so surprised, considering what transpired that night in the Mundberg. But he was, and unnerved once more, excited, intrigued... Blood rushed along his veins, pooling heavily in his loins. His imagination threw lurid images upon his mind's eye, of sleek bodies bared to his gaze, his touch...

With a growl he shoved to his feet, striding back to his gear. "If this be some sort of jest, I appreciate not your humor," he tossed over his shoulder. Did they think the Eorlingas were barbarians, that they moved from lover to lover with the disregard of dogs in heat? He may be the youngest and least sophisticated sovereign in Theoden's procession, but even he knew that what they were suggesting was simply not done. He ignored the thrill of the forbidden, a rush of desire and excitement that made his skin itch to be free of confinement and bared to the air. To the possibilities.

He allowed the grab of his shoulder, a strong grip that wrenched his body around to face Elladan, whose eyes blazed with a fierce light. Be it wrath or something else, Éomer knew not, but there was an extra edge to Elladan's voice as he spat, "Reject the offer if you are too much a coward, horselord, but insult us at your peril."

Elrohir laid a hand upon Elladan's shoulder, stopping any further aggression. "Peace, brother." He looked to Éomer, no ire showing on his face. "There is no jest, Éomer, nor disrespect intended. Simply desire, and an honesty we hoped that a man of Rohan would appreciate."

Éomer sighed, rubbing at his forehead briefly. Not for the first time, he wished for the counsel of his far more worldly cousin. "I too did not mean to offend." He dropped his hand, flexing fingers that were calloused with the evidence of a life too rough to have taught him nuances or niceties. "I am unused to such offers...and...the idea of..."

A breath puffed out his frustration. He lifted his head and stared at each handsome face in turn, both pairs of gray eyes seeming riveted to his own. "It is not in me to break faith with a lover, no matter how short or long the loving lasts. To share bedmates like a pitcher of ale..." He shook his head. No doubt there were men who so indulged, but since he'd come of age he'd always been too conscious of his place as a son of Eorl to consider such wanton behavior.

Elrohir's lips curved in his gentle smile. "You mistake the situation, bright king. This is not a careless draught of ale, gulped and forgotten. This is like savoring a bottle of the finest wine, a vintage so rare and so special..." He paused, reached out to rest his free hand on Éomer's shoulder, its weight matching his brother's on the opposite side.

Éomer was very conscious of their closeness as Elrohir spoke once more, his musing tone matching the dreamy expression in his eyes. "Or like the sharing of a fire, wanting that warmth and light to push back the gloom for another weary traveler."

"Yes..." Elladan gentled his grip, and Éomer felt a single long finger begin to toy with his loose hair as Elladan spoke. "How to make you understand? You shine bright and hot, a bonfire at the harvest... The Elves, the Gondorians...their spirits are as cool as their cities of stone. The Steward's son knows this well---why think you he craves the affections of Rohan's White Lady?"

But then some unpleasant notion registered within Elladan's mind and his face hardened. He glanced at Elrohir and back to Éomer, then began to draw away, saying, "Perhaps your distaste lies not in the thought of being shared, but in your feelings toward those who wish to share you..."

The uncertainty lurking in the depths of Elladan's eyes had Éomer's hand reaching out---halting Elladan's departure ere Éomer was even aware of moving. But once his fingers had clutched the soft cloth of Elladan's sleeve, he did not release his grasp.

Meeting Elladan's gaze squarely, Éomer asked, "Do you mean to suggest I desire you not?" Another sigh passed his lips as he looked from one brother to the other. After a moment he offered his own truth, in tribute to the honesty shown him this day. A truth that had dwelled within him since that night in Minas Tirith. "You would be wrong. How could I not desire you---both of you---yet each for his own merits? To do otherwise would be like asking me to choose between the swift stream and the wild wind. Each offers its own delights."

The declaration seemed to draw them closer together, until they were all breathing the same heady air. Éomer shivered as Elladan's hand returned, burrowing beneath his hair, cupping the back of his neck to stroke the over-sensitive skin of his nape.

Elrohir's grip on his shoulder tightened, drawing his attention---and Éomer's eyes were held prisoner by a gray gaze as warm as the summer sun. Elrohir's voice rose to drown out the sounds of approaching horses. "We will do naught to dishonor you, Éomer. The road is too rushed and rough for intimate pleasures. But the walls of Meduseld are thick, and no doubt your bed comfortable. Will you welcome us there, each in his turn?"

Since meeting Galadriel, Éomer knew for certain that the legends of the Elf Witch's enchantments held no truth. But he wondered if the Peredhil had some unnatural power over the minds of men. For as his Riders entered the glade, he found himself nodding acquiescence without a single qualm.

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Elladan strode along a corridor of Meduseld, at a pace that would proclaim confidence and discourage speculation as to his errand. The night was far enough gone that most had sought their beds, but a few hardy folk had yet to retire.

He knew the way to Éomer's chamber---he'd mapped it earlier in the day when the procession arrived in Edoras. Many of his kinfolk were camped outside the walls for the few days before the funeral, but Elrohir and he had been given a small room within the main building.

It was no surprise to him that Éomer did not occupy Theoden's suite---those chambers had been turned over to Aragorn and Arwen for the duration. No doubt the newlyweds appreciated the space...and the privacy.

Elladan paused before Éomer's door, crafted slightly taller than any man and nearly twice as wide. The king of the Riddermark still dwelled in the chamber he'd claimed in childhood, conveniently set at the end of the hallway and separated from his sister by a storeroom. Elladan allowed himself a small smile; at least the other elves were far enough away that no sounds were likely to disturb them.

Another moment of reflection and Elladan raised his hand and knocked. He wondered if Éomer would be surprised---and pleased or disappointed---that it was not Elrohir at his chamber door. Elrohir had been the leader in this pursuit thus far, but Elladan had persuaded his twin to cede claim to the first night with the companion that had captured both their interests.

He would not speak the reason, though. Not to his brother and not within the privacy of his own thoughts.

The door opened with only the faintest creak, light from within spilling into the corridor around Éomer's silhouette. Even in that shadow Elladan could see startlement in Éomer's hazel eyes, along with a mix of anxiety and anticipation. Éomer stepped back without a word, a gracious hand ushering Elladan into the chamber.

As Elladan stepped through, he heard the thud of the door and the thunk of the bar being slid into place. The tension in his shoulders ebbed; perhaps it was the hominess of the chamber. Thick stands of candles set on earthenware plates brought a mellow glow to the room, revealing an unlit hearth with a chest-high mantel, a bed draped in wine-dark coverings, desk and table, chairs, chests and a bureau, all carved with the exquisite skill for which the Eorlingas were renowned.

Even the beams above their heads and the paneled walls had been worked with elaborate motifs, and the floor was fitted with decorative tiles not unlike those found in the Golden Hall. No doubt in winter furs or carpets protected bare feet from the chill, but in summer only a few sun-faded woven rugs were laid.

The windows on the far wall were open to the night breezes and the light of the moon and stars. The aromas of fertile fields and flowers in bloom carried easily to Elladan. Closer he could scent the soap and musk of Éomer's skin, and Elladan turned at last to look at his host---soon to be his lover.

Surprise had left Éomer's gaze, but the blend of desire and uncertainty remained unchanged. Yet Elladan found himself more and more at ease, his limbs relaxing, his booted feet set firm upon the tile. For he knew that Éomer hid nothing---the Eorlingas did not lie, even by omission. They were as honest and open in their truths as in their strength.

Elladan's eyes swept the lines of Éomer's tall, muscular frame from waves of golden hair to bare toes. Those peeped from the hem of a long robe the green of bay leaves, with embroidery and fastenings of bronze. The contours of Éomer's body were still hidden, and Elladan felt his desire heighten, a need to finally explore, to experience this mortal who shone for him brighter than any elf.

Something in his expression must have answered Éomer's concerns, for the full lips framed by trimmed mustache and beard stretched into a grin that dazzled. "Did you toss a coin or draw lots?"

A sharp bark of laughter startled Elladan as it left his throat. "Nay, I borrowed a length of magicked rope from the generous Samwise." For a moment Elladan regretted he *hadn't* made such a request; he could imagine using it to fashion an enticing binding for Éomer's long limbs.

Éomer's head tilted, and Elladan found himself watching the play of light on golden hair as the strands slid along broad, green-clad shoulders. "Then perhaps I should delay our pleasures until Elrohir is freed." The playful tone of Éomer's voice brought Elladan's attention to sly eyes, glimmering green and gold in their depths as Éomer continued, "I'm certain leaving guests trussed up in their chambers is a sign of a bad host."

Elladan tried to transform his chuckle to a growl as he pounced. He seized Éomer's shoulders, shaping the dense muscles beneath his hands as he pressed lips to lips. So long it had been, but now the feel, the taste and scent of Éomer was flooding his senses. A hint of mead enhanced the sweetness of the silken surfaces his tongue explored. His loins tightened when he felt strong arms encircle his back, hands fisting his tunic.

A whispered groan slid from his throat as Éomer joined the mating of their mouths more fully, rough texture of tongue claiming Elladan's mouth with a surety that bespoke an accomplished warrior. Their bodies rubbed together, and Elladan slid his hands inward, one sinking into Éomer's hair while the other cupped a strong jaw, the bristles of Éomer's beard setting his skin to tingling.

After long moments of imprinting Éomer upon his memory, Elladan felt the seams and laces of his tunic bite into his flesh as Éomer pulled the cloth taut and wrenched his mouth free. Éomer's eyes were dark and glittering as he growled, "Divest yourself of these garments, Elladan, if you wish to keep them whole."

A shudder ran through Elladan as he stepped back, the air in the room cool after Éomer's warmth. He ran his tongue over his lips as he held Éomer's heavy-lidded stare. With sure, swift movements he stripped off boots and belt, tunic and leggings.

He paused, standing tall in silken hose that hid nothing of his desire. His own gaze was riveted to Éomer's hands as they moved to part the fastenings of the green robe. Each movement opened the gap in the garment wider, revealing by slow degrees a broad chest firm with muscle and decorated with tawny hair. Below the undulations of ribs and abdomen the strands darkened to the shade of Éomer's beard.

Finally, finally Éomer slid the robe off his shoulders, letting it drop to the floor and leaving him naked in the candlelight. And magnificent---to Elladan's eyes the faint lines of old scars only enhanced the strength of Éomer's form, proof of survival. Of life, of a mortal's victories against the grasping claws of Death.

Éomer lifted an open hand. "Let's to bed." Elladan's eyes mapped the flow of bone and muscle from fingertips to wrist, along a forearm gilded with golden hairs to a strong bicep to the curve of shoulder. Without a word Elladan removed his final covering and stepped forward.

But when he grasped Éomer's hand he tugged hard, pulling Éomer off-balance to aid Elladan's lift and toss of his lover onto the bedclothes. His chosen landing site was foiled by Éomer's swift roll out of reach. Elladan's breath escaped in a huff as his torso and legs smacked into the firm mattress beneath the soft cover. The bed barely moved, suggesting the solidity of wooden slats instead of the sway of rope at the frame's base.

He flipped to his back in time to see Éomer slide over him, sleek and powerful, tawny as a forest cat. Long golden waves encloaked Elladan's view as a hair-roughened body settled upon his own. He shuddered as the wiry thatch surrounding Éomer's cock and balls teased his own loins, as bare as any full elf's.

Elladan gasped at the different textures of their bodies. He clasped Éomer's waist as Éomer braced on bent elbows to stare down into Elladan's face, wonder clear in wide hazel eyes. Yet Elladan hesitated, suddenly unwilling to take advantage of Éomer's distraction to roll Éomer beneath him. Instead he waited, his breath catching when Éomer's right hand rose to slowly caress his face, the calluses on Éomer's fingertips a delicate, delicious abrasion against his skin.

Elladan's eyes closed as Éomer's touch glided from one eyebrow to the other, along the thin skin beneath his eyes, down his nose to feather across his lips. When the hand withdrew Elladan opened his eyes, found Éomer waiting for him.

Éomer swallowed, his voice husky as he spoke. "I know you seek to mount me, Elladan, but I would ask the gift...the privilege...of this." He moved subtly, the heat of Éomer's cock a brand against the skin of Elladan's thighs.

Elladan stilled. Éomer couldn't know how rare a privilege that was; the act demanded a trust that Elladan had rarely granted in his long life. And yet, Éomer had proven himself worthy of that trust, as more than ally and friend. The hope and desire shining in Éomer's honest face would only allow one decision.

"Then ride me, horselord." The words were bold but the delivery whisper-soft. Elladan parted his thighs, eyes widening at the slide of Éomer's flesh along his own as their legs became more entangled. Elladan breathed deep, felt his chest expand and his belly brush Éomer's with each inhalation, dreaded the lessening of contact with each release.

"My thanks," Éomer murmured, breath ghosting across Elladan's lips as Éomer joined their mouths once more. Elladan closed his eyes, ran his palms along the curve from Éomer's ribs to hips, fingertips exploring Éomer's back and the lush curve of buttocks. Shivered again as Éomer's hands cradled his face, the heels of Éomer's palms the lightest pressure against the sides of his neck.

The movements of tongues and limbs were languid now, gentleness Elladan rarely let himself enjoy. He knew not how Éomer discerned what Elladan craved in the dark hours between sunset and sunrise, but felt himself melting into the mattress, desire a thick and golden honey flowing in his veins.

Without his will Elladan's limbs spread, stretched and bent to cradle Éomer's body against his own. A groan of quiet pleasure escaped his lips when Éomer's mouth left his to wander, the tickle of beard and mustache an unfamiliar accompaniment to delicate licks and soft kisses, the gentle scrape of teeth against his skin.

He felt as though he were being reintroduced to his own body as Éomer's hands and mouth mapped the length of neck and breadth of shoulder, the angle of limbs and the splay of torso.

Elladan braced himself on his elbows as Éomer shifted down, golden hair trailing in his wake. Elladan's own breath shortened in anticipation as hot breath caressed his navel and strong hands bracketed his hips, sliding down the outer length of his thighs.

Éomer's head lifted, and in the candlelight his eyes twinkled even as they had darkened with desire. He hovered over Elladan's cock, which had filled and lengthened over the course of Éomer's attentions. "May I?"

Elladan nodded, suppressing a chuckle at Éomer's unabashed enjoyment. But a moan escaped him as a rough, slick tongue explored his eager length, seeming intent to leave not the smallest measure of skin untouched. His hips lifted of their own accord, and Éomer grunted encouragement as his hands surrounded Elladan's sac with warmth.

The teasing had Elladan slumping back to the pillows, his head turning from side to side. A look to his left gave him a view of a small flat-topped chest next to the bed. In front of a dish of lit candles was a water-filled basin, a cloth and a small corked bottle. He reached out, snagging the bottle and feeling the slickness of oil around the seal.

His eyes jerked back to Éomer as his cock was surrounded by a heated suction. A groan sounded from deep in his belly as he watched Éomer's lips slide up and down his length. Again. Again.

"Éomer." Elladan smirked at the flick of Éomer's eyes and lifted a hand to wave the bottle in the air. He felt Éomer's snorted chuckle against delicate skin as Éomer pulled off and lifted up to grasp the offering, a finger of his free hand now sliding into Elladan's cleft.

But after Éomer had slicked his own length with oil and stretched to set the bottle on the floor, he refocused upon Elladan's face, keeping careful watch. Elladan felt the breach of a single finger, didn't withhold the gasp. Found himself relaxing around the invasion, the oil making the entry of another finger into his passage strange rather than painful.

Éomer seemed to be in no hurry, his free hand still toying with Elladan's cock, occasionally straying upward to rub circles into the smooth skin of Elladan's navel.

The pleasant sensations continued as the candles flickered and their breathing synchronized. Eventually Elladan felt Éomer withdraw, and he held absolutely still as Éomer slid back up his body to settle fully between his thighs.

He was surprised to see a flash of uncertainty cross Éomer's features before he felt the blunt head of Éomer's cock pushing slowly into his body. He groaned at the fullness, the sense of completion after so long a waiting. He slung his arms around Éomer's shoulders and wrapped his legs around Éomer's waist, in a position he found unfamiliar but not unpleasant. "So *ride* me, horselord," he teased.

"Then it will be a canter," Éomer replied with a smile, then kissed Elladan once more, joining mouths as they were meshed below.

And it was like the ride this afternoon, smooth and steady and long...fullness and pleasure and the warmth of Éomer's weight against and inside him, the rasp of hair against his inner thighs and buttocks and against his chest and stomach. And long, softer strands tangled in his fingers as he pulled Éomer closer, tighter, breathing him in. Whenever he opened his eyes he would see a flash of gold, candlelight on Éomer's hair or skin or glimmering beneath long lashes. After a time he felt the grasp of a slick hand around his cock, firm pulls in time with their movements together and apart, then together again.

The buildup was such a gentle slope that shock mingled with pleasure as Elladan reached the pinnacle and shot over the edge, his cry muffled by Éomer's mouth still upon his. The rush of ecstasy surged through him, steady rise and rise as if Elladan would lose his link to Middle-Earth and soar up to the stars, only Éomer keeping him bound within an unrelenting embrace.

Éomer's own groan of fulfillment was breathed into Elladan's throat, his lungs, his very core. Gentle pulses accompanied Eomer's seed within him, even as his own release slicked his belly and Éomer's.

Elladan drifted in the haze of pleasure, barely aware of the clutch of Éomer's fingers and the way his own stroked his lover's sweat-slick shoulders. Éomer pressed his forehead into Elladan, a welcome pressure upon his neck and collarbone.

After a time Elladan did not measure but believed to be too short, Éomer lifted himself free, strong hands soothing Elladan's bunched limbs as Elladan straightened on the mattress. Éomer stretched to reach the chest beside the bed, dipped the cloth in the basin, and brought it back to wipe the seed from Elladan's body with sure strokes, his sated gaze never leaving Elladan's.

Soon the task was done. Éomer then attended to himself and moved to dispose of the cloth. Elladan felt too languid to allow concern to spoil his calm. Perhaps Éomer would wish Elladan to quit his bed now that their passion was spent.

Before Elladan could fully consider the possibility---or his reaction---Éomer had turned back to him. Laid a hesitant hand on Elladan's shoulder, the warm weight of it a kind of caress. "Will you stay, Elladan?" Éomer's voice was husky, and his gaze that of a young man yet unsure of his welcome.

Elladan felt an unfamiliar smile curve his lips as he rested his own hand upon Éomer's, slim upon solid, each strong in its own way. "Yes."

Éomer's grin of delight was the break of the sun through clouds. "My thanks." He drew the coverlet and linen from underneath their bodies, tossing the heavier cloth to the foot of the bed. He arranged the remaining sheet, ensuring Elladan's comfort before he settled beside him.

Elladan drew Éomer close, minding not at all the warmth radiating from his lover's mortal body, even in the lingering heat of this night. At Éomer's contented sigh, he began to stroke his lover's golden hair. And listened to Éomer's soft breathing until he too was lost in dreams.


	3. Chapter 3

Now Elrohir understood why Elladan had been so insistent upon being first to Éomer's bed. His twin had neatly avoided the very uncertainties now plaguing Elrohir's mind: What if Éomer was content with Elladan's attentions? What if Éomer was now thinking there was no need---or desire---to share the same passions with *him*? What if Éomer did welcome him; would Éomer find him a disappointment after a night with Elladan? They were not identical in any way but superficial---and Éomer had never mistaken one twin for the other.

Elrohir came to a stop by the entrance to the storeroom that lay before Éomer's chamber. He frowned in the torchlit corridor---elven serenity seemed as far away as it had ever been in his life. He may appear a full elf, but to be certain he rarely felt the equanimity, even detachment that seemed intrinsic to the First Born.

He heard Éomer's bootsteps approaching, scented Éomer's skin before the rich voice sounded close, but not close enough. "Elrohir, Is aught amiss?"

Elrohir turned, found Éomer regarding him with brows drawn over eyes turned earthen-dark in the shadows between the torches. "Nay, Éomer...I was simply caught up in my thoughts."

"Are your thoughts perhaps dwelling on what lies ahead?" Éomer's question came swift upon the heels of Elrohir's remark, and more followed apace. "Are you no longer at ease with partaking of a lover your brother has already known? Do you prefer a different bedfellow this night?"

The Eorlingas' innate honesty was an aid to Elrohir, who was not as well-versed as some in reading men. He suspected disappointment and yea, regret flashed upon Éomer's face, the lines of the strong body drawn taut with waiting. And that somehow calmed his own discordant thoughts. Whatever had passed between Éomer and Elladan, Elrohir was now assured that Éomer also wanted *him*. His smile warmed as he lifted a brow. "And whose company would serve me better than yours, bright king?"

"No one's, if desire be the measurement." Éomer seemed to settle, his shoulders and limbs relaxing into their usual easy carriage. He returned Elrohir's smile, then pivoted on his heel to lead the way to his chamber.

Elrohir allowed his eyes to trace the length of Éomer's spine, noting the way broad shoulders sloped into the angle of narrow waist and hips before flowing into strong legs yet unbowed by Éomer's years in the saddle. The burgundy of Éomer's tunic made his hair glow in the light of the torch beside his door, a molten river falling to the middle of his back.

He followed as Éomer shouldered past the door, then waited by the still-open portal as Éomer crossed the room. The neatness and fresh scent of the chamber pleased Elrohir; there was no sense that he was trespassing upon Elladan's domain.

A flash of sparks drew his attention to a copper kindling bowl, set upon a small table between two chairs before the cold hearth. Éomer leaned slightly over it as he again struck flint, this time igniting the wisps of lint and broken straw gathered therein.

Elrohir admired the way Éomer moved, power under perfect control, as Éomer lit a candle from the flame in the bowl, then used it on others arrayed about the room. When it was bright enough, Elrohir shut the door and dropped the bar into place.

The thunk must have drawn Éomer's attention, for he looked up from his task and offered a shrug. "My apologies that I was not better prepared for your arrival, Elrohir." Hazel eyes twinkled with mirth as Éomer continued, "I began to fear I would not be released from my after-dinner conversation until we sat down again for break of fast."

A chuckle escaped Elrohir as he drifted forward to brace his forearms on the back of the right-hand chair. "I'll wager you were held captive by the Hobbit tendency to chatter."

Éomer's laugh was a sound as warm and golden as his looks. "Aye, Merry's and Pippin's words do wander as far and wide as their travels." His expression sobered and softened. "But not all four should face your accusation. Gladly would I more oft hear the thoughts of Frodo and the gallant Samwise."

"Sam I think suffers from shyness only, but mayhap the Ringbearer's spirits will revive as his body continues to heal." Elrohir hoped that would be the case. Although all peoples of Middle-Earth had suffered the days of darkness, Frodo had borne the greatest burden.

"Aye...but I fear that only the sight of his own home and hearth will provide the tonic for his ailments," Éomer replied as he lit a dish of candles on a chest by his bed, the flames reflected in a basin of water resting there with some other items. When Éomer lifted his head his gaze wandered the room, and Elrohir could see a wealth of memories recalled.

"It may be so," Elrohir murmured. They were all seeking a measure of peace and comfort as their lands began to heal from the scourge of evil. He straightened as Éomer set down the last candle. Elrohir had waited long enough for his own remedy for the memories of darkness. Many a time had his thoughts turned to that vision of Éomer on the Pelennor: fierce, defiant, indomitable. An iconic Rohir, but also a symbol of everyone who had faced the darkness---their need, their will to fight no matter how faint the hope of victory.

He crossed to where Éomer still stood by the bed, reaching up to clasp Éomer's face between his hands. Éomer's whiskers added an unfamiliar tickle as Elrohir grazed fingers and palms along Éomer's jaw. His thumbs brushed Éomer's cheeks, the rounded rise of bone solid beneath flushing skin.

In the glow of the candles, Éomer's eyes blended the colors of Rohan: rich brown earth and lush green grass, lit by flecks of golden sunshine. Then Éomer's lids descended as Elrohir's face tilted slightly, pressing their mouths together for the first time in too many months. There was a breath flavored with ale and spiced fruit, the cushion of Éomer's full lips, a hint of what lay behind them...

But Éomer drew back after only the briefest of kisses. Elrohir's brows rose once more at the...discomfited...expression on Éomer's face.

Before he could question the cause of Éomer's unease, the answer was revealed. "My apologies, Elrohir. If you would but give me a moment to refresh---"

"Nay." Elrohir's grasp firmed before the word was spoken. He spread his fingers, tangling them in Éomer's wavy mane to ensure a more secure hold. He nuzzled into the side of Éomer's neck, breathing deep the aromas of ale and wood smoke, the Hobbits' pipe weed and the musky, sweated smell of man. He murmured into Éomer's ear, "Do not assume I share the fastidious sensitivities of my pureblood kin. Speak no more of erasing the day. I delight in all that you would deny me..."

The clench of strong hands around Elrohir's waist had him smiling as he rubbed his cheek against Éomer's jaw, a sound of approval escaping him. His tongue swept out, gathering the salt from Éomer's throat. He licked a trail up to a tempting lobe, the morsel captured for a gentle bite.

Elrohir felt as well as heard Éomer's growl, so closely were they pressed. Éomer leaned in to press a kiss to Elrohir's temple, sending a shiver along Elrohir's limbs. The scrape of teeth along the delicate skin had him jerking in reaction, and he quickly abandoned his explorations to slide his lips back to Éomer's. He burrowed his hands further into Éomer's hair, cupping the weight of Éomer's skull as their mouths joined.

Yes...the rough and slick of tongues entwining. Elrohir dove deeper, exploring the moist and silky walls of Éomer's mouth, the line of teeth that had parted to receive him. In turn he shivered at the probe of Éomer's tongue above and beneath his own, Éomer's claiming thorough and intoxicating. They breathed together, the inward rush of air cool until it was released in heated pants.

The slide of calloused hands along his sides beneath his tunic had Elrohir lifting his head with a gasp at the warmth and ever-so-slight roughness of Éomer's touch. He allowed the tug of cloth, raising his arms to let the garment be pulled free. The night air was gentle against revealed skin as he in turn reached out to bare Éomer's upper half. His eyes flicked up to see Éomer's passion-blurred gaze before his view of Éomer's face was blocked by burgundy.

And yet, he had no complaint. For as he dropped Éomer's tunic to the tiled floor, he found his focus drifting to the dense muscles of Éomer's chest, lingering upon the sprinkling of golden hairs adorning it before following the centerline of midriff and belly.

His hands of their own accord reached out to slide down Éomer's flanks. When he reached Éomer's hips Elrohir paused, then shoved Éomer back to sprawl upon the bed. Éomer's chuckle and ease of landing told Elrohir the move was not unexpected.

He found himself smiling as he stooped to grab hold of one of Éomer's legs, removing the boot and sock adorning it with one hard pull. Elrohir paused a moment and glanced up again to meet Éomer's gaze, his hands exploring the curve of Éomer's calf through the material of his trews.

Elrohir felt Éomer's other leg wrap around his hip, the bootheel solid against the base of his spine as Éomer pulled him forward. When his legs hit the mattress he let himself fall, seeking to pin Éomer to the bed.

But only for a moment. In the next breath Éomer was using the momentum of Elrohir's movement to shift their balance---and bodies---to turn Elrohir's lunge into a diagonal roll that left Éomer on top and both of them in proper alignment with the pillows. Éomer scrambled back, a rogue's grin on his face as deft hands slid to the laces of Elrohir's leggings, loosing the ties and pulling them and his hose down until they were stopped by the tops of his boots.

Elrohir leaned up, bracing on his elbows as Éomer moved to divest him of his footwear. He couldn't help noticing the strength of Éomer's arms and hands, the long fingers sure upon his instep and heel as the right boot was pulled free. He flexed his foot and wiggled his silk-clad toes, enjoying Éomer's chuckle. The left boot soon followed, and finally his leggings and hose. He shifted slightly on the bed, feeling the texture of the cover against his skin.

His gaze was riveted as Éomer slid off the end of the bed to stand, bare to the waist with one boot still gleaming polished leather in the candlelight. His gaze locked with Éomer's, a connection naked with need and desire unabashed. Elrohir's blood beat heavily in his veins, his cock tumescent as he watched Éomer finish disrobing.

He breath caught at the sight. For Éomer was a warrior in his prime, muscled limbs and torso gilded with tawny hairs, thickening and darkening to golden-brown around a cock of a length and girth most pleasing.

When Elrohir lifted his eyes to Éomer's face, the hunger in Éomer's gaze caused Elrohir's belly to tighten with anticipation. In another heartbeat Éomer was also on the bed, pulling himself up Elrohir's body with movements strong and supple, a hunting cat on the prowl.

Locks of bright hair slid forward over Éomer's shoulders, framing his face and Elrohir's as Éomer leaned down to join their mouths once more. Elrohir sat up further, sliding his arms under Éomer's to splay across the expanse of Éomer's back. Warm skin, so warm, and his to explore, contours of muscle and bone mapped with long strokes on either side of Éomer's spine.

Although Éomer's hands remained on the bedcover, his kiss had lost restraint, lips surrounding Elrohir's own to suck them to greater fullness, the sting of teeth a further sensation before Éomer ceased the torment and allowed their tongues to mate. Elrohir groaned and leaned forward, wanting the slide of chest to chest.

But the angle was awkward. With a grunt of frustration he pulled his head back. Éomer's eyes were black pools with only a slim ring of color, his cheeks flushed and lips parted. Magnificent.

Gripping Éomer tightly, Elrohir pushed him onto his back. He stretched out over Éomer with a smile, then his eyes closed in bliss as he rubbed the lengths of their bodies together, luxuriating in the tickling scrape of Éomer's lightly furred skin.

His eyes snapped open when he found himself rolling again, Éomer's hands tight upon his waist. He countered the movement with a push in the opposite direction to keep them from falling off the bed.

The tussle that ensued was a playful wrestling for dominance, sliding and rolling over the bed as they groped and nipped, licked and stroked while neither allowed the other victory for more than a few heartbeats. Elrohir breathed in the scent of Éomer's skin as he set his teeth in the angle between neck and shoulder and bit down, leaving his mark but taking care not to draw blood.

Éomer's growl was the only warning before Éomer rolled them once more, rocked onto one arm and used the other to flip Elrohir. Elrohir grunted as he landed on his full cock and Éomer's weight settled atop his back. For a few moments only their rapid pants broke the silence in the room. He could feel Éomer's sweat transferring to his own flesh where they pressed together. Imagined he was being coated with Éomer's scent, with his lover's heat and salt.

Elrohir felt his hair being pushed to one side, shivered at the swipe of Éomer's tongue on his nape, along the side of his neck and following the outer curve of his ear. Éomer's breath against the wet skin was both hot and strangely cool as he murmured, "I know not the strength of the Peredhil, but methinks it must be greater than a man's."

He pressed closer, his cock a heated length teasing the seam of Elrohir's buttocks. "So I must conclude, Elrohir, that you have granted me this victory...which I intend to enjoy in full measure."

Elrohir did not reply, but spread his legs to let Éomer settle between them. For in truth, this is what he craved: the power, the passion of this golden warrior. He hissed at the shift in weight as Éomer stretched an arm past him to the chest on the left side of the bed, to grab a small bottle hidden in the shadow of the water basin.

His flesh tightened as Éomer slid back to kneel between his spread legs. Elrohir had experienced this pleasure with other lovers, but not often and not in some time. The downy hairs on Éomer's legs tickled his inner thighs, making him shudder. The touch of lips to the base of his spine had Elrohir pressing his palms to the mattress to lift up slightly, looking over his shoulder.

The fingers of Éomer's right hand shone with oil. His eyes met Elrohir's, and Elrohir sensed a question in them. Elrohir nodded, saw the heat flare in Éomer's eyes as the gesture was returned.

Elrohir turned back and laid down once more, relaxing as Éomer's dry palm and fingers began to caress his back and buttocks, surprisingly gentle strokes from such a powerful hand. Elrohir sighed as he was breached, the slick warmth of Éomer's fingers easing the initial discomfort. The stretching of his opening vied for his attention with the teasing scrape of short nails along the crease between buttock and thigh, first left, then right. He barely restrained himself from squirming under the dual attentions, instead attempting to ease his muscles further.

Their breathing had slowed as time passed, from harsh pants to a soft cadence of inhale and exhale. Serenity beckoned...

A slap to one buttock had Elrohir jerking up, slewing around to glare at Éomer. He snorted at the smirk that awaited him, but felt his lips twitch in response just the same.

"I feared to lose you to reverie," Éomer explained and slid hands around Elrohir's hips---one grip oily, one dry, both strong---lifting him to his knees. Elrohir straightened his back, grabbing the top of the headboard. He licked his lips as he watched and felt Éomer settle against him. A welcome weight, the tip of Éomer's cock teasing his opening.

The guide of Éomer's fingertips against his chin had him lifting his gaze to Éomer's as Éomer leaned forward, pressing their lips together. The languid play of mouths and tongues matched the slow and steady glide of Éomer's cock into Elrohir's depths. He could feel the fine tremble of control in Éomer's body, the heavy beat of Éomer's heart against his back.

His fingers tightened on the satin-smooth wood beneath his hands. Elrohir shoved back until his buttocks smacked into Éomer's groin with a fleshy sound covered by their groans. He nipped at Éomer's lips before growling, "Now." He turned his head forward, braced himself for the onslaught.

"Aye." Éomer's answer was a moan as his hands tightened on Elrohir's hips. Then he was drawing out---earning a hiss from Elrohir at the sensation---and slamming back in with a low grunt.

Elrohir's body arched at the welcome invasion, his legs spreading wider. Éomer set a merciless pace that Elrohir reveled in, pushing back to meet each of Éomer's thrusts, desire thrumming in his veins. Elrohir flung his head back, his hair sliding against his chest and shoulders its own caress. "More."

The sound Éomer made in reply was more animal than man. Elrohir shuddered as rough hands slid up his sides and chest. Éomer's arms clamped around him, wrists pressing into Elrohir's collarbones, fingers gripping the tops of his shoulders.

Elrohir shouted as Éomer used the leverage to thrust *up*, so deep into Elrohir---so fierce, so good, so *much*. He was surrounded by Éomer's scent, his strength, his weight, his heat and sweat, the slide of skin on skin. Elrohir's body tightened with pleasure, cock full and heavy with want, with *need*.

He let one hand unclench from the headboard, growled as he felt hot breath against his back, the caress of lips and pinch of teeth as Éomer gnawed at the base of his neck, moving from one side to the other, then returning to lap at the same area. Elrohir knew there would be no visible marks but he could feel them, spots of heat tingling from the rise of blood under the skin.

A moan sounded from Éomer as Elrohir let his hand stroke the length of Éomer's left forearm, the hairs adorning it surprisingly soft. He kept trailing down, over his own midriff and navel, lower still to surround his straining cock. He grunted as Éomer's thrusts sped up, their bodies colliding with dull thuds that echoed the pound of Elrohir's heart.

Elrohir pulled at his engorged cock, matched the rhythm of their mating. He shook as the tension centered in his groin reached its limit, flung his head back with a hoarse shout as his hips continued their dance between the tightness of his fist and the fullness of Éomer's possession. His seed pulsed swift and hot to coat his hand with slickness.

Beyond the blur of pleasure through his body and roar of blood in his ears, Elrohir felt Éomer lurch forward, grip tightening, heard the groan as Éomer pumped his essence into Elrohir's body in shuddering thrusts.

Elrohir held taut for long moments, but eventually he relaxed and released his remaining hold on the headboard, reclining into Éomer's embrace. He smiled as he felt Éomer nuzzle the back of his neck, licking once more. He enjoyed the feeling of repletion, of satiation, of connection for an unmarked time.

Elrohir felt Éomer's whiskers teasing the top of his shoulder as Éomer rested his chin there to ask, "You are well?"

"Mmmm..." was Elrohir's only reply as he turned his head to kiss Éomer's cheek. Then he nudged Éomer back, sighing in regret as Éomer's spent cock slid from his sheath. The scent of their mating still hung in the summer air.

Éomer dropped away from him to rest on his side, head propped up on a bent arm. Elrohir shifted off the bed and looked at his lover, stretched out like a lazy golden cat on a sunny rock. He reached for a cloth and dipped it in the water basin, cleaning his hand and body of drying seed, his and Éomer's.

"I would be glad to provide such service," Éomer murmured, and Elrohir felt a gentle hand run down his thigh. Elrohir looked over with a smile and shook his head. A few more passes and he was finished with his ablutions, setting the cloth aside and dampening a fresh one before setting a knee on the bed, leaning over and bracing on one palm as he began to clean Éomer's groin.

A hiss let him know Éomer's flesh was still sensitive, but Éomer didn't draw away from his touch. He shifted the cloth in his hands and pushed at Éomer's shoulder to tumble him to his back. As soon as Éomer had moved Elrohir lifted Éomer's freed hand and cleaned the remnant of oil from it.

A disappointed huff was Éomer's reaction as Elrohir stood up to drop this cloth on top of the other. Then he swiftly circled the room, blowing out most of the candles. Every step brought a delicious twinge, a reminder of what had just passed and the pleasures that had been wrought.

A glance told him Éomer was not idle, rising to return the bottle to the chest, sweeping up their clothes and dumping them on a chair, then pulling the cover down to the foot of the bed to expose a linen topsheet. A sudden yawn stretched Éomer's jaw, and the fist that rubbed at his eye made him look like a sleepy child.

Warmth that had nothing to do with the heat of desire bloomed in Elrohir's breast. He slid into bed and grabbed Éomer's hand to urge his lover to join him between the sheets.

Elrohir settled onto his back, drawing Éomer' head to rest upon one shoulder. Felt Éomer's arm stretch across his chest and one long leg bend to slide between his own. He echoed Éomer's contented sigh, letting his fingers ghost down the length of Éomer's forearm. His other hand cupped Éomer's hip. "Éomer?"

"Hmmm?" The response was rough with the edge of sleep.

Elrohir let his touch drift to the tempting curve of Éomer's buttock. He lifted his hand and brought it down with a smack on the firm flesh as he declared, "I give you fair warning: I mean to have you come the morn."

Éomer's husky laughter against his skin ushered Elrohir into reverie...

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Dawn was painting the carved beams overhead a delicate pink when Elrohir emerged to wakefulness. The weight and warmth against him was slightly altered, proof that Éomer had shifted during the night, but the soft even breaths ghosting past Elrohir's skin told him his handsome lover was still---or again---lost in slumber.

Elrohir glanced down, but could only see the top of Éomer's head, denied any glimpse of Éomer's face. Éomer's arm was still wrapped around him, but this time above the thin sheet covering them. He freed his own arm and let his fingers wander, trailing from Éomer's wrist to elbow, enjoying the tickle of the hairs there. His other hand also pulled from under the sheet to toy with the ends of Éomer's mane.

The sudden tension, then almost immediate easing, of the muscles under his touch and along his side told him that Éomer's warrior instincts were still very much in evidence. He buried his left hand in Éomer's hair, tugging at it to tilt Éomer's face to meet his kiss.

Their eyes closed and mouths opened, greeting each other with a lazy slide of lips and tongues, interested but not yet aroused. Elrohir tasted mint...the affection he had felt the night before surged again, causing him to smile into their kiss. Éomer must have risen earlier to clean his teeth and breath, no doubt unwilling to offend his half-elven lover's "fastidious sensibilities". Elrohir knew his own scent and taste were pleasant enough---he may not possess elven serenity, but he did share many of their physical advantages.

He shifted onto his side, and was immediately gathered into a strong embrace. Elrohir let his tongue flick upward, tickling Éomer's palate. Éomer's laugh huffed down his own throat, and he repeated the action, his eyes opening to see the glimmer of green and gold under Éomer's slitted lids.

Elrohir flung the sheet away, wanting to see all of Éomer in the growing light. He pulled back and propped one elbow on the pillow, resting his cheek in his upturned palm as his eyes followed the lines of muscle and bone clad in sun-touched skin. Despite the inherent fragility of mortal man, Éomer exuded a power and presence even in repose.

"So Elrohir, morning has come. Do you mean to pursue yestereve's intent?" The desire that simmered under Éomer's teasing tone and expression stirred Elrohir as well, enticed him to rest a hand on Éomer's hip, nails drawing circles.

He felt Éomer shiver under the light touch, press their bodies closer. Their rising cocks brushed each other, and Elrohir leaned down to nip at Éomer's throat. "Of course, Éomer," he murmured against the succulent flesh. "With your cooperation."

"It would be my pleasure," Éomer replied as he relaxed his hold, his top hand stroking Elrohir's ribs. The touch was that of both friend and lover, and it satisfied something in Elrohir even as his arousal rose.

Suddenly he found himself on his back, Éomer looming above him with a smile full of mischief. "*After* I make a most important discovery."

Elrohir met the smile with a raised brow. "And that would be?"

"How well your cock glides 'tween my lips." Éomer punctuated the statement with a quick kiss, then shifted to rest upon Elrohir's thighs. His tanned hands stretched and spread, ghosting down Elrohir's body from shoulders to hips.

Elrohir shivered under the caress. His skin prickled in awareness, arousal rising as Éomer straightened and repeated the movement, this time with the edges of his nails scraping lightly over Elrohir's skin.

A gasp escaped his lips when Éomer leaned on the mattress and licked, slow and deliberate, across Elrohir's chest from one side to the other. Éomer then blew a cool stream of air across one nipple before taking it into the heat of his mouth. He drew strongly on the nub, causing Elrohir to sink a hand into his lover's blond mane and hold Éomer there.

Éomer seemed to have no objection to Elrohir's grip. He nipped, kissed, and licked across whichever patch of skin Elrohir directed him. Éomer's occasional glances revealed both desire and affection as he continued his explorations.

Elrohir's hips jerked when Éomer's hand suddenly grasped the base of Elrohir's shaft. Apparently playtime had ended, for Éomer shook free of Elrohir's hold and shifted farther down to curl his tongue around the ridge and head, making Elrohir groan at the rough stroke.

He surrendered himself to the passion and the pleasure sparked with every shift in Éomer's grip, every flick and slide of Éomer's agile tongue. Elrohir blessed the rising sun as he focused on the image of his bright king looking up at him. Golden hair tumbling, full lips swelled further by Éomer's most tender ministrations.

Time measured only in heartbeats and panted breaths marked the build of passion into need. "Éomer," he warned, not wanting to be denied his intended pleasure this morn.

After a last lick, Éomer released Elrohir and moved up the bed until he was stretched out beside his lover once more.

Elrohir had to smile at his lover's expression, not unlike that of a cat who had discovered an opened jug of cream. "And how fared your investigation?"

"Most satisfactorily," Éomer replied with a chuckle. After a contented stretch that belied the full and ready state of his own manhood, Éomer shifted closer to lie pressed against Elrohir.

Elrohir sighed as his eyes were once more drawn to travel the whole length of Éomer's muscled form. Smooth skin and golden hair glowing with the touch of the sun. His bright king, indeed. With a roll of his body and nudges to Éomer's shoulders, he once more positioned them fully on their sides.

Then Elrohir lifted up and twisted at the waist. Stretched to the side of the bed to grab the tiny bottle. When he turned back, he scooted down to rest his head on the pillow once more. Let the fingertips of his free hand trace Éomer's collarbones, the flow of bone possessing an elegance and delicacy that he doubted such a fierce warrior as Éomer would ever lay claim to.

Elrohir then combed curled fingers through the hair on Éomer's chest, teasing pink nipples to hardness with firm pinch and tender caress. Enjoying the way Éomer's breath roughened as his eyes drifted closed, his body shifting on the mattress.

But not writhing---not yet. Elrohir smiled as he clasped Éomer's top leg above the knee, drew it up to rest over his own hip. Éomer's eyes opened, glittered a message of hunger as he licked his lips.

Yet Elrohir sensed an unusual tension in Éomer's frame. He lifted his brows as he opened the bottle and tipped it to oil his hand. "This act is not unknown to you?"

"Not unknown," Éomer admitted, brows contracting. "But not enjoyed since the days I was an unranked Rohir in my first éored."

Elrohir nodded as he secured the lid with his palm and set the bottle aside. He could understand Éomer's reluctance to submit to a brother-in-arms, even in pleasure, after taking up the mantle of responsibility and authority. Especially if he'd been promoted above older, more seasoned warriors.

He didn't reply in words, but shifted his hips back to coat his cock. As he closed in again he let the back of his wrist trail up Éomer's inner thigh, until his fingers could knead the smooth patch of skin behind Éomer's balls.

Éomer's gasp and the jerk of his hips sent a surge of satisfaction through Elrohir. He teased Éomer's cock with his own arousal as he let his fingers circle Éomer's opening. Anticipation mingled with the lust heating his blood.

Elrohir smiled as desire flushed Éomer's cheeks. But he waited for the growl of his name from Éomer's throat before he breached Éomer's body, in the same moment claiming the full lips that tempted him so. His left hand sank into Éomer's hair once more, found and gripped Éomer's nape. Keeping him still as Elrohir ravished his mouth, tongue claiming, teeth nipping and scraping as he re-explored territory discovered the night before.

He continued to move his fingers within Éomer, his thumb still rolling against the pleasure point outside Éomer's body, sometimes brushing the sparse, wiry hairs that graced Éomer's sac.

A sound of mingled eagerness and frustration escaped with Éomer's next breath. Now he was writhing in Elrohir's hold, his leg clutching at Elrohir's waist, hips pressing onto Elrohir's fingers and arms tightening, fingers digging into Elrohir's back. Elrohir was sure Éomer would be spewing curses if Elrohir's grip on his neck wasn't keeping their mouths fused. He wanted to keep them both suspended here between want and satisfaction, the tantalizing promise of fulfillment sharpening their desires.

Finally Elrohir let their lips part as he withdrew his fingers, gaze hawk-sharp upon Éomer's face as he guided his cock to sink into Éomer's body. A sigh passed his own lips as the walls of Éomer's sheath enclosed his cock in clinging heat. A flurry of emotions lit Éomer's wide eyes, clenched his jaw as Elrohir continued the long slow thrust until he was fully seated. Joined with this man of gold and fire whose bright spirit had enthralled Elrohir so many months ago.

He dipped his head to slide his open mouth along the arched length of Éomer's throat as Éomer's eyes closed and his head tilted back. Elrohir nipped and laved as his hips began the advance and retreat of possession. A slow but unrelenting pace that soon had Éomer moaning and twisting in his grip, fingers grasping. Elrohir reveled in the power of such a man willingly tamed to his desires.

The fluid leaking from Éomer's cock slicked his own groin and belly as Éomer made small rutting movements against him. Wordlessly attempting to urge Elrohir to greater speed with quiet groans and the slide of Éomer's other leg to offer Elrohir greater access. Elrohir tightened his own grip, on Eomer and on the reins of his control.

But resisting the temptation to pound into Éomer was taking its toll. Elrohir grunted as he let one hand fall to Éomer's top leg, stroking along it and reaching underneath to tease the place where they were joined. Feeling the slide of his cock, the unconscious clench of Éomer's opening from outside and within Éomer's body.

Éomer's nails raked his side, drawing Elrohir's gaze to Éomer's flushed face and glittering eyes. "Finish," Éomer snarled, grasping Elrohir's biceps.

Elrohir made some sound of agreement, let his fingertips drag up the seam of Éomer's buttocks, onto the expanse of his back and around the curve of his waist, tugging at the hairs on Éomer's belly. After another of Éomer's growls he finally dropped his hand to grip Éomer's cock. He squeezed and stroked, still keeping his slow and steady pace. But the tightening coil of tension in his body was becoming well-nigh unbearable. He held to his control by a thin thread, wanting Éomer to surrender first to ecstasy...

A strangled sound caught in Éomer's throat as his back arched, his hips jerking as his release surged forth to spatter his body and Elrohir's. His opening clamped down on Elrohir's cock, and Elrohir couldn't hold back his own low cry, or the seed that burst from him to coat Éomer's channel in heated pulses, Elrohir's senses spiraling away into a haze of pleasure.

They held tight to each other, quivering and panting, sweat shining on Éomer's skin. When the tension left them they collapsed, limbs still a hopeless tangle. Elrohir stared into Éomer's eyes as their breaths slowed, watching the rings of color slowly displace the shrinking pools of black.

When their bodies were finally at peace, Elrohir dipped his head to rub his nose against Éomer's, then drew back with a smile. "*Now*, bright king, you definitely need a bath."


	4. Chapter 4

Elladan cocked his head with a slight grin as he waited by the door, listening for a particular tread in the passageway beyond. With a quick pat to the vial of oil in a pouch on his belt, he glanced at the room to confirm all was in readiness.

That Meduseld possessed a library would be a surprise to some in Gondor who had viewed the Rohirrim as little more than barbarians. But he had never doubted that the pragmatic horselords kept written records. True, most of the Eorlingas learned their history through story and song---and the sharpness of their memories impressed even the elves. But the histories of other lands, not to mention treaties with them, were committed to parchment. The Children of Eorl did not lie, but the same could not be said of all people of Middle-Earth.

What intrigued Elladan was the variety of texts available. It seemed Rohan had not always been as isolated as it had become in the dark time of Theoden's reign. The library held volumes in the language of the Mark, in Westron, in Sindarin...there were even a few Gondorian tomes describing the lands and peoples of the Southron realms.

The room had a fresh-scrubbed feel, the scents of lavender and beeswax lingering in the air among the dustier smells of ink and paper. The afternoon sun was welcomed through clerestory windows, swung open on iron hinges to allow the breeze and the sounds of Edoras to offset the stillness of the room.

The sides of the tall bookshelves and scroll-bins were carved with the interlocking rings that were a common motif in the Riddermark. Similarly decorated were the sturdy table and six chairs that sat in the center of the room, and the high-backed benches set here and there, bright cushions scattered across them matching the woven rugs upon the tiled floor.

A desk out of view held the rest of Elladan's supplies. The chair at the foot of the table was out of place---so was one of the benches. Elladan had quickly discerned that the library door could not be secured from inside, and had dragged this bench close to hand to press into service once his quarry was within his grasp.

As if conjured by the thought, Éomer's footsteps sounded in the corridor, quickening Elladan's breath and prickling his scalp. His grin widened, turned feral as he eased the door open just in time to see Éomer pass in a blur of gold hair and linen shirt.

With a flick of movement, he leaned out and wrapped an arm around Éomer's waist. Yanked Éomer off his feet and pulled him into the library. In the blink of an eye Elladan shouldered the door shut, spun Éomer free, and grabbed a corner of the bench, shifting it to block the door. Thus keeping anyone from entering at an inopportune moment.

He turned back to Éomer to see the end of a blink of surprise and recognition, saw tempting lips part to no doubt frame a question. With one stride he was gripping Éomer's hair in his left hand, fist gathering and twisting the strands to hold Éomer still for a kiss that plundered. There was heat and breath and the bright taste of mint, and his right hand slid to grip Éomer's haunch. To clasp the weight and warrior strength of Éomer's body tight against his own.

Éomer's fingers were a welcome clench around Elladan's biceps, and Elladan's masterful kiss became instead a clash of lips and teeth, slick tongues twining and probing. Elladan growled, roused and wanting as he rutted against Éomer, pressing their loins together in short fast thrusts, the friction earning him a groan from deep in Éomer's chest.

He moved forward, a step, another, herding Éomer toward the foot of the table. Éomer apparently approved of the action, for Elladan knew even Peredhil strength would be taxed with the effort if a man as powerful and stubborn as the Rohir dug in his heels.

But Éomer was yielding to Elladan's lead, sliding his hands under Elladan's arms to tease fingernails beneath the angles of Elladan's shoulder blades, trailing down Elladan's spine through the thin cloth of his tunic. Elladan shivered at the strokes, his jaw closing to trap Éomer's tongue between gentle teeth, then widening again to drink in the sweetness of Éomer's mouth. His grip on Éomer's hair tightened, fingers tangling in the wavy strands. Elladan pulled Éomer's head back to feast on his lover's long throat, bared by the half-loosened laces of his untucked shirt.

He scraped his teeth along one vein, feeling the beat of Éomer's pulse beneath his mouth. Retraced the path upward, then explored the line of Éomer's whiskered jaw, delighting in the breathy gasps that escaped Éomer's lips. He struggled to resist the urge that pounded with his heartbeat, to sink his teeth into the soft flesh beneath Éomer's ear. Instead he reached up to yank the opening of Éomer's shirt wider, and moved to flick his tongue into the notch between Éomer's collarbones. Elladan felt Éomer's fingers twist the hem of his tunic, rucking it up enough to bare a wide swath of skin to the air.

When they reached the table, Elladan shoved Éomer to sit at the foot, in the gap created by the missing chair. Stepped between Éomer's spread thighs to grind their arousals together once more.

"Elladan." The name was a growl from Éomer's throat.

"Yes." His reply was as guttural, as full of need. Elladan lifted his head to stare into passion-glazed eyes, the swipe of Éomer's tongue across kiss-swollen lips a lure that Elladan had no desire to resist. He sank back into their kiss, abandoning his grip on Éomer's hair to slide both hands under Éomer's shirt.

He spread eager fingers across warm skin, traced the contours of belly and ribs, thrilling at the still-unfamiliar texture of the hair that adorned Éomer's torso. Éomer's hands had risen to spear through Elladan's hair, cradling his skull while their mouths mated in swift strokes of tongue and press of lips. Éomer's scent and taste were imprinting on his senses, the give and take of the kiss a prelude to what would soon follow.

Elladan felt Éomer jerk when his thumbs brushed across Éomer's nipples. He smirked into the kiss as he teased the pebbled rings around the straining nubs. Bent his thumbs to run the edges of his nails along the underside of Éomer's nipples, then flicked them. Swallowed Éomer's moans as he returned again and again to his new game, his fingernails dragging along the sides of Éomer's chest with each pass. His own cock growing harder with each sound, each arch and twist of Éomer's body under his hands.

Éomer finally put an end to it, yanking Elladan's head back by the hold on his hair. Teeth scraped the line of Elladan's jaw, far too slowly, gentle laps of tongue soothing and rousing in equal measure. Elladan hissed, his hands clenching around Éomer's body as that wicked mouth moved to tease one ear, the skin sensitized by the heated puffs of air that came with each of Éomer's panting breaths.

A moan lodged in Elladan's throat as Éomer's teeth and tongue traced the sharp angles and whorls, and he leaned into the sensation without volition, all movement stilled as he shuddered under Éomer's touch.

Finally he relaxed his hands, stroking his fingertips up and down the muscles of Éomer's back before gathering the hem of Éomer's shirt and dragging it up. How reluctantly did he draw away, and only long enough to toss Éomer's shirt aside and remove his own belt and tunic. He drew forth the vial of oil from its pouch, seeing the dark glass reflect the light. He leaned forward to set it on the table by Éomer's hip, lifting his gaze to Éomer's.

The heated glitter of Éomer's eyes no doubt matched Elladan's own. For Elladan *hungered*, needing to claim, to conquer, to possess. But first he wanted all of Éomer bared to his gaze...his touch.

Éomer must have read his intent, leaning back on his hands, lifting a long booted leg for Elladan's grasp. In movements elven-swift Elladan stripped Éomer of boots, socks, breeches, and undergarment, flinging the items behind him with little regard for their landing. Grinning himself at Éomer's chuckle, a broad smile lending Éomer's face a boyishness that was at odds with his warrior's body, with the proud cock full and pulsing with a man's desire.

Elladan loosened his own leggings and hose, holding back a moan as the pressure on his arousal fell away. He did no more than shove the garments down to catch on his boot-tops before pushing Éomer's thighs apart once more.

Strong arms pulled him in, and Elladan gasped as Éomer's body pressed against his own, rubbing just enough to set Elladan's skin to tingling. His gaze caught Éomer's for a heated glance, then his eyes were drawn to a shadowed bruise half-hidden by Éomer's tumbled hair. He shifted the bright strands to flow down Éomer's back, revealing a mark of passion, bite-sized and purpling, at the juncture of Éomer's neck and shoulder.

Elrohir's mark. Elladan swallowed as he slid back a fraction of a step. His eyes swept the length of Éomer's body, broad chest and taut stomach, well-formed cock and long, strong limbs. Deciding where he would stake his own claim upon his lover.

Choice made, he closed in again, hands sliding to map the planes of Éomer's back while he lowered his mouth to the smooth skin just under Éomer's collarbone. But he only licked at the salty flesh, moving down to nuzzle his face against Éomer's chest before closing his teeth around one peak.

The sudden hard grip of Éomer's fingers at his nape and on his shoulder made him smirk as he pulled and sucked at the nub, feeling and hearing the shudder that deepened Éomer's groan. He could sense the heat rising to the scrap of tormented flesh, so he released it to send a cool stream of air across it to soothe.

His gaze flicked up to the arch of Éomer's throat, bared by Éomer's flung-back head, but he kept to his purpose and shifted to the untended side of Éomer's chest to offer the other nipple the same treatment. As he worked, he let his fingertips trail along the soft skin of Éomer's inner thigh, the warmth increasing as his touch flowed to the tender crease.

Instead of straightening he leaned farther forward, grasping the vial and pushing at Éomer's chest to lay him flat upon the table, legs dangling. Elladan slicked one hand and spread the oil over his cock, panting at the slide of his fist over his straining flesh.

He capped and set aside the vial and pressed his clean hand to Éomer's midriff, roaming over the golden expanse of Éomer's body as his slick fingers teased at Éomer's opening. Éomer rose slightly on his elbows, passion-darkened eyes holding Elladan's gaze captive as Elladan's hands moved upon his flesh. Elladan heard Éomer's gasp, felt the shudder within and without as he slid one finger deep into Éomer's body.

Elladan held still until he felt the instinctive clamp of Éomer's muscles ease, then began to caress the walls of the heated sheath. His own arousal had him breathing as heavily as Éomer, his hips unconsciously moving in tiny thrusts as he slid another finger within Éomer's depths. Shuddering with anticipation for once more joining flesh to flesh with this man. Éomer, who had stirred his blood and commanded his thoughts since that first glimpse upon the Pelennor, a Rohir of strength and passion who would not yield to defeat or death, but who here and now surrendered to Elladan's touch.

His other hand scratched at the line of hair leading from Éomer's belly to navel to groin, the texture growing more wiry where it surrounded the jut of Éomer's cock. Elladan drew his fingers to the rim of Éomer's opening, then with a swift movement he again plunged his fingers to the hilt, pressing upward, while he braced his other hand on Éomer's hip, holding Éomer in place. He leaned down and bit into the bare, smooth flesh above one hip. Holding Éomer down as he suckled at the spot, leaving his own mark upon his lover.

Éomer's surprised moan sounded above him as he felt Éomer's body try to arch at the dual assault. After a time, Elladan withdrew fingers and teeth, stooping to slide his arms beneath the crooks of Éomer's knees. Straightening, Elladan spread Éomer wide as he pressed the head of his cock to the glistening opening, then inside the slick heat, sinking in slowly...ever so slowly...watching as he slid deep into Éomer's body.

Again Éomer's body clenched, drawing a grunt from Elladan that was echoed by Éomer, who reached up to wrap strong hands around Elladan's wrists. Elladan drew his hips back, thrust forward, gaze riveted on the way Éomer's flesh yielded to his possession.

Éomer's groan brought his eyes up, and he released Éomer's legs, feeling them encircle his waist as he pressed closer. He rested his hands on Éomer's shoulders, never slackening his pace. Sensing the pressure of each of Éomer's fingers around his wrists, how the grip tightened with each surge into Éomer's core.

A golden vision was laid out before him: long sun-bright hair fanned about Éomer's head, eyes glittering in his flushed face, lips open for panting moans. Sweat glistened on Éomer's skin, burnishing his flesh. His cock leaked slick fluid that transferred to Elladan's skin as their loins slid together with each press forward.

Elladan leaned down, tongue snaking out to trace the line of Éomer's lips before plunging in. He felt Éomer's arms wrap around him, hips rising to meet Elladan's movements as their mouths devoured each other. Elladan had no thought but their joining, the heat and the thrust and the claim, the way his cock advanced and retreated and the clinging heat. The way his fingers dug into Éomer's shoulders and the way Éomer's hands clutched at his back, nails digging sharp sparks of sensation that spurred his passion further.

His body slammed into Éomer's with each push into Éomer's sheath. He released his grip on one shoulder to slide his hand between their shifting bodies, fist grasping Éomer's cock. The weight and girth of it in his palm made him growl as he pulled and squeezed, wanting to drive Éomer over the brink.

When he felt Éomer's back arch he clamped his mouth over Éomer's, drawing the breath out of Éomer's body at the moment of ecstasy. He felt more than heard the guttural sound that was the only noise possible from Éomer's air-starved lungs.

Then Éomer clenched around him, arms and legs tightening, sheath squeezing fierce around his cock, wrenching forth his own release. His scream whooshed down Éomer's throat as his hips thrust hard, again, again, again---claiming, leaving his seed deep within.

When he came back to himself, he felt Éomer's release dripping down his fingers. He shifted his other hand to the table, resting his weight on it as he felt the calloused pads of Éomer's fingers trail from his back to his sides, ghosting along his arms as Éomer collapsed to the table with a soft groan, legs still wrapped around him.

Elladan met Éomer's eyes, and they shared a grin that offered no apologies and allowed no regrets. He brought his hand up to his mouth, licking Éomer's release from his fingers and palm. The flavor one he somehow already knew and would never forget.

With a sigh he slipped free of Éomer's body, leaning down to begin lapping up the spatters of seed on Éomer's belly and groin. His hands automatically snapped up to clutch Éomer's hips and hold him still as Elladan laved the no-doubt oversensitive flesh. He ran his tongue along the length of Éomer's spent cock, suckling the head, enjoying the hisses and shifts of Éomer's body under his grip. Éomer's hands slid into his hair, but Éomer didn't try to pull him from his task. Instead Éomer's fingers stroked along his scalp, making Elladan hum with pleasure.

With a last lick he stood up, caressing the length of Eomer's legs before letting them fall away. He took a moment simply to enjoy the sight of Éomer lying debauched and languid before him. Then he hitched up his hose and leggings enough to walk unimpeded over to the desk where he'd earlier laid a jug of scented water and a pile of cloths.

Bringing them back to the table, he took the largest cloth and slung it over his shoulder. "Up," he said to Éomer, reaching for an arm to haul his lover to his feet. "I want to get the table wiped off."

He easily accepted the weight as Éomer leaned against him, bodies resting against each other. He shivered at Éomer's low chuckle against his ear. "So now I know where I rate with you, Elladan---below the furniture, apparently."

Elladan simply snorted and used a smaller cloth to wipe down the wood, careful not to use too much water and spoil the grain. He was determined to leave this room as pristine as he'd discovered it. Then he took up a washcloth, wet it thoroughly, and began to run it over Éomer's skin. Along the noble brow and high cheekbones, across the firm jaw and down the strong throat. Following it with the careful press of the bath sheet, Éomer's face for a moment blocked by the cloth until Elladan began to wash the sweat from Éomer's chest.

Gentle fingers on his chin lifted his face to Éomer's. "My thanks," Éomer murmured before drawing closer. Elladan's eyes slid closed as Éomer kissed him, a delicate brush of lips that had him sighing when it ended. His eyes opened to Éomer's grin and a quick swat on his buttock. "Get back to work."

"By your command," Elladan retorted as he began to use broader, firmer strokes. Much the way he groomed his horse. As he circled to clean Éomer's back, he felt muscles shift beneath his hands as Éomer snorted a laugh at the treatment before saying, "You realize I can never hold another meeting in here."

Elladan simply returned to his original position to offer Éomer an innocent smile as he rewet the cloth, stooping to rub down strong legs before rising again to clean and dry the sensitive flesh at the apex of Éomer's muscled thighs. His own body shivered with the memory of pleasure as Éomer gasped at Elladan's careful touch along his cleft. Éomer's hand grasped Elladan's shoulder, a gentle squeeze that made Elladan pause, lifting his own hand to stroke his fingers along Éomer's forearm as they spoke without words, lost in each other's eyes.

Eventually he returned to his task. Soon he was finished with Éomer, and quickly cleaned himself off. Then he refastened his hose and leggings before searching out his tunic and Éomer's clothes.

After donning his tunic he attempted to help Éomer, but his hands were batted away as soon as Éomer realized that there was more groping than assisting occurring. Éomer's next comment was muffled by the shirt he was pulling over his head, distracting Elladan from getting a last stroke of that tantalizing chest hair. "I didn't expect you until nightfall..." Éomer's head reappeared, a shadow darkening hazel eyes. Elladan guessed Éomer was thinking about the evening ahead, and the interment of Theoden King upon the morrow.

Elladan cupped Éomer's face in his hands. "Neither Elrohir nor myself will disturb you. It is a time for kin. You and your sister, all those closest to Theoden King need this night to fit your private grief. Before you must wear it publicly, in front of the august assembly gathered to honor Rohan's fallen sovereign."

He offered a small shrug. "We will keep Faramir from pining for his White Lady."

The lift of Éomer's brows accompanied the tiniest quirk at the corners of his mouth. Elladan stroked his thumb at the edge of Éomer's beard, encouraging the reappearance of the dimple he knew resided there as Éomer asked, "And exactly how do you intend to accomplish that?"

"Fear not, my jealous horselord," Elladan reassured him with a smirk of his own. "Neither Elrohir nor I wish to tempt your sister's wrath---or get a sword through the gizzard. Éowyn's beloved will be quite safe in our hands."

Éomer's own hands made an appearance then, delivering a warning squeeze to Elladan's waist. "Just make certain, Elladan, those hands remain metaphorical and all will be well."

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Éomer closed his chamber door and set the bar across it, leaning his forehead against the wood with a sigh that was almost a whimper. Though he'd appreciated the twins' offer of privacy yestereve---and taken advantage of it, talking until the dawn with Éowyn and the others---he had no energy for either of his lovers this night. Nor patience for further conversation with anyone, especially if it involved the platitudes that were the only offerings anyone could make on such an occasion.

Theoden was interred, set to rest within the final mound of the third line of the Riddermark's kings. Though Éomer had had months to absorb the loss, deep within him the boy who'd already had too many people wrenched from his life keened with agony afresh. With memories too sweet and too horrible to bear.

Even the bright spot of Éowyn's betrothal held its own ache, for soon he would lose her as well, to marriage and a new home in Gondor.

"Although it be no consolation, we understand your loss, for we will soon have our own to suffer." Elrohir's voice sounded from behind him, causing Éomer to whirl, stopping the hand that automatically reached for his sword.

Both Elrohir and Elladan were there, clad in robes of pale gray with silver fastenings, each in one of the sturdy chairs in front of the cold hearth. The sight of them kindled an anger Éomer knew was meant for Theoden, for Theodred...for all the dead who had left him behind. "It is hardly the same," he snapped, fists clenching with a need to batter Fate itself. "For you will see Elrond again the moment you set foot upon the Western shores."

"No, it is not the same," Elladan acknowledged as he looked over his shoulder at Éomer. "For your folk were stolen from you by Death, while our parents abandon us of their own free will."

Elladan's resentful tone was matched by narrowed eyes and wide mouth stretched thin. Éomer found himself admitting that was a bitter truth to swallow. For he, too, knew its taste. "Your mother has already traveled to the Undying Lands?"

Elrohir answered, and his expression held the echo of a sorrow long past. "Years upon years ago...she was ill-used by orcs, and fled the memories."

"And forgot her children," Éomer murmured. He drifted into the room; the brief surge of rage had dissipated, leaving him drained and numb. A few more steps brought him to the hearth, and he raised an arm to lean against the mantel. There were few decorations---he'd not spent much time in Edoras these last years, and he'd had few keepsakes from his time in Aldburg. "My mother did the same."

"How?" Elrohir's whisper was as soft as the embrace of the arm he suddenly wrapped around Éomer's shoulders, silent steps having brought him to Éomer's side.

Some part of Éomer believed he should shrug off the support, the comfort---vaguely guilty for the tacit admission of weakness. But instead he leaned into the touch. "My father was killed by orcs when Éowyn and I were children. My mother grieved herself to death rather than live without him."

He lifted his head, seeking out Elladan's gaze. "I resented her selfishness for more than half my life. I could never understand how she could forsake us...Éowyn was so young."

Éomer paused, then straightened without leaving Elrohir's embrace. The mention of Éowyn led him to the more recent past, and its revelation. "Until that day on the Pelennor, when I saw the light leave Theoden's eyes and held what I believed to be the corpse of my sister. In that moment there was nothing in me but the need to join them."

His voice dropped as he shivered at the memory. "A great yawning abyss that only death could fill, mine and all the enemies I could take with me ere the killing stroke fell. Then I knew...I understood what my mother had done, because I wanted to die myself. To erase the memory of all I had lost the only way I could."

Elladan's gaze fled his to rest upon the empty hearth. Éomer hoped he had offered some insight into the twins' departed mother's mind, though its workings were no doubt vastly different from that of a mere mortal. Éomer shifted to look at Elrohir, raising his hand to brush the backs of his fingers along a silken cheek. "When does your father leave?"

"A few days," Elrohir replied, the fall of his hair brushing Éomer's hand as Elrohir tilted his head into Éomer's caress, forehead a gentle pressure against Éomer's temple. Elrohir's next words ghosted past Éomer's face in a breath of wine and herbs. "It could indeed be as sure a parting as death, for like Arwen we may yet choose a mortal path."

Éomer stilled at that, shock blanking his mind. He backed away, a few slow steps until both Peredhil were within his view. "You would choose to disavow the way of the First Born? Spurn the gift of eternity?"

"Gift---or curse?" Elladan launched to his feet as the words burst from him. He paced back and forth, agitation showing in his stiff shoulders and fisted hands. Éomer wanted to reach out, to soothe, but stayed where he was, not wanting to interrupt Elladan's speech.

"You have no idea what my brother and I will face, Éomer, in the time to come." Even Elladan's words were clipped with tension. "Mortals have but the briefest span of days for life; rare it is to find a measure of time bereft of purpose."

He stopped, turning to Éomer a face of youthful lines and ancient eyes. "But what will our purpose be in the Undying Lands? We are warriors...what does a warrior do with no war---no one to fight for or protect?"

Elrohir sighed from where he stood, his expression a mirror of Elladan's. "It is not impossible that we could craft a new life as artists, builders...but the idea of day after day, stretching out forever, with no purpose but to fill the time..." He shook his head.

Éomer settled his back against the mantel, crossing his arms with a frown as he struggled to comprehend...to imagine time without end, without measure. But he had yet to grasp even the notion that in this new age of peace, he himself may live to be an old man. "If that be the case, why not pass eternity here in Middle-Earth?"

Elrohir drifted past them to settle in his chair once more. "Again, to what purpose? We are princes of twilight. Most of our people have already left for the Undying Lands, and in time the rest will follow."

Elladan seemed to calm, his limbs easing into their otherworldly grace. He looked at Éomer with a shrug. "If we stay in Imladris, we would be sovereigns of a city of ghosts. We could roam the lands and clear them of the last of Sauron's and Saruman's brood, for we are orc-hunters...but one day the orcs will be gone."

Éomer shook his head. "In the lands of men there will always be danger in one form or another, true evil or the indifferent peril of boars and wolves. Always will there be innocents to protect...to care for." He looked at them, each in turn, these eldritch beings whose wisdom and burdens were greater than he could ever understand.

It was Elrohir who broke the silence that had fallen, rising with his gentle smile and walking forth to lay hands upon Éomer's shoulders. "Be at peace, bright king. Your words have the ring of truth. And our choice---mortal or immortal---will not be made tonight."

Elladan stepped around his brother to stand at Éomer's back, strong arms sliding around Éomer's waist and soft breath stirring the hair by his ear. "But we would ask a boon of you, to comfort us when these days have become legend, tales of valor sung on a summer night."

Éomer laid a hand over Elladan's twined fingers, clasped the other around Elrohir's wrist. In that moment he knew that he had ceded a part of his very being to them, and could not regret the loss. "What would you have of me?"

Elrohir met his brother's gaze, then Éomer's, and Éomer could see hesitance and hope mingled in his countenance. "We would have memories of you to share, Éomer, when nights are dark and days gray. Memories of time we spent with you, here...all of us together."

Éomer opened his mouth to reply, but Elrohir lifted a swift hand, fingers stopping Éomer's lips. "But think not upon it this night. You are worn with care, and grief. Until the dawn, let us hold you, and sing you into a sleep without dreams."

And so Éomer let himself be stripped and cleansed with tender care. He was borne onto the bed and slipped beneath a light sheet, his lovers removing their robes to curl around him as his weary eyes drifted shut. Their cool, soothing strokes on his hair and chest, their soft murmurs in his ears, granted him peace.


	5. Chapter 5

Éomer shivered in his candlelit chamber, but not from cold. He shrugged into his robe, fingers swiftly securing the fasteners that held the garment closed. He had an acute awareness of the brush of the cloth against the skin of his upper chest and back, the slight weight against his shoulders. The swing of the robe against his arms and thighs, the flap of the hem about his ankles and the cool unyielding of the tile beneath his bare soles as he moved to the table near the hearth to pour a goblet of wine.

The vintage was grape-sweet and sharp on his tongue as he closed his eyes a moment to savor, to let the rich liquid roll around his mouth ere he swallowed. He stroked his tongue along the inner walls, chasing the taste.

His head dipped forward as his eyes opened, and he stared at the disk of deep red, a full dark moon in the golden goblet's sky. It was still strange to see his callused warrior's hand curled around such a finely crafted vessel. He had spent too many years quaffing ale from wooden beakers or pewter mugs, slouched on rough-hewn benches with his shoulders wedged against his fellow Riders. The scents of horse, metal, leather, and sweat claiming the very air as the province of warriors.

This was a king's cup, and Éomer would be wise to understand that a king now held it. He had accepted his duty as heir of the House of Eorl, felt the binding of crown and royal cloak. But in some depth of his being, he had yet to grasp the elemental truth of Éomer King. In that part of him the Third Marshal still dwelled. Perhaps it would always be so.

He felt his lips curve in the slightest of smiles as he took another sip. Like the wine, his enjoyment of it was a gift from his lovers. Elrohir and Elladan seemed to have awakened his senses in their time together. The...luxuriousness...that drenched even the simplest of acts and experiences still left him dazed. They had reminded him that it took only the smallest measure of moments to appreciate the trappings of life itself: the sights, sounds, scents, flavors, and textures that made up his world.

A fog of obliviousness had surrounded him a long time, more than half his life it seemed. Wrought by the demands of vigilance and violence, the constant war his people had waged against those who dared violate the borders of the Riddermark. And it had taken all these weeks since the destruction of the Ring to ensure his people's survival. The tally of the dead and wounded, the survey of the damage left by Sauron's and Saruman's forces, the making and implementation of plans for recovery---and, finally, the entombing of Theoden King---had left him so little time for himself.

But now there was true peace in the Mark. Late-planted crops were flourishing, the villages rebuilding. The herds that were the lifeblood of the Eorlingas grazed in safety they had not known in decades. Éomer had not held such hope for the future since the days his parents still lived.

And so he had indulged himself this past week, by indulging the whims of Elrohir and Elladan. In return he had been granted days of camaraderie and nights of sensuality the like of which he had never known, and would never know again.

His free hand rose to wander down his arm, pressing the fine weave closer to his flesh, feeling the hairs on his arms rise and his skin prickle with anticipation of his lovers' touch. He had spent these last breathless nights as the bridge between Elrohir and Elladan. He had touched and tasted them and been touched and tasted by them, each in turn. Or spent wondrous moments with one lover sheathing himself within Éomer's core while the other sought the pleasure of his mouth or his cock. He would always remember...the glow of their gray eyes, the taste of their sweet lips, and the cool press of their moon-pale skin. The strength and grace contained in their slim forms, the passion and comfort he had found entangled in their embrace.

Éomer lifted his head and raised his goblet once more, in a silent solitary toast. He would never forget this gift he'd been granted, even if their treasured time together was all too brief. For tomorrow, his lovers would accompany Arwen to say farewell to their father Elrond ere he sailed to the West. After that, Elladan and Elrohir would begin the hunt for the remnants of Mordor's forces.

A slender arm sleeved in black reached over his shoulder and plucked the goblet from his grasp. "Where wander your thoughts, bright king?" Elrohir asked with a smile, brows raised as he took a sip from the goblet and leaned against Éomer's left side.

Éomer offered his own smile in return, reaching across with his right hand to cradle Elrohir's cheek, thumb stroking. "I was thinking about you...and you as well, Elladan," he said as he glanced over Elrohir's shoulder to watch Elladan finish closing the door and sliding the bar into place.

"That is most appropriate," Elrohir replied. Éomer turned back to him as strong fingers encircled his wrist, drawing his hand to Elrohir's mouth. He shivered as Elrohir's lips tickled his palm as Elrohir murmured, "For we were thinking of you." Elrohir pressed a kiss there, eyes gleaming with promise as they held his, a willing captive.

An arm slid around Éomer's waist, Elladan's scent flaring his nostrils as Elladan's jaw came to rest upon his right shoulder, a shining fall of dark hair mingling with his blond. "Were you making plans for our last night together, Éomer?"

Éomer swallowed as Elladan's fingers walked up his spine, sliding under his hair to tease the nape of his neck with a light scrape of nails. "Nay, I will gladly follow your path to pleasure, this last night." He tilted his head to brush cheeks with Elladan. His left hand drifted to settle on Elrohir's haunch, grip firm on rounded muscles both dense and yielding, as his right flexed with the sting of Elrohir's bite on the fleshy base of his thumb.

His body arched slightly at the stimulation, but his thoughts were still caught in the reverie of earlier. He sighed. "I was pondering how this time with you has been a balm to a heart long wearied with care...and that my thoughts will harken back to you when the summer moon paints the world in silver and black as the night breezes whisper over the plains."

Elladan snorted as he reached an arm around Éomer to acquire the goblet and drink, the bob of his throat a quick movement against Éomer's shoulder as Elladan swallowed. Elrohir had lowered Éomer's hand, twining their fingers together, and Éomer saw that Elrohir, too, waited for Elladan to offer an explanation. Éomer himself was frowning in confusion and yea, hurt, at such a reaction to his musings.

After another draught, Elladan set the goblet down with a click. The glitter of the eyes he turned to Éomer would have been called feverish in a son of Man. "I think you will forget us soon enough. Neither my brother nor I is blind, horselord. We've seen the lustful glances that follow you as you speak with the men of your éored and the women of your court." 

The hand at Éomer's nape clenched seemingly without Elladan's volition, pressing hard fingertips into Éomer's flesh. "It will not be long before our successors tumble into your bed."

Whether the goad be anger or merely warrior instinct, Éomer was quick to shift, raising and bending an arm to push into the crook of Elladan's arm, freeing himself from Elladan's tightening grip. His release of Elrohir's hand was as bare of aggression as Elrohir's hold was free of force. Éomer stepped back to stare at them both, body tense.

But he stopped his fingers ere they clenched into fists, checked a snarl ere it could stretch his lips. For he could now see the hint of anguish beneath Elladan's anger, saw it mirrored in Elrohir's gaze. And he knew that this was yet another gift---that his lovers had abandoned elven inscrutability to let him see their feelings plain upon their fair faces. And he realized that they, too, would ache at the wrench of parting.

Such honesty was tribute to the Eorlingas' love---need---of truth, and he was humbled by the honor. He could offer no less. "My bed will be a lonely one come the morn." Éomer drifted forward to rest each hand upon a shoulder, feeling the slender bones and wiry muscles beneath his grip. "When Arwen and Aragorn depart I will move into my uncle's rooms, and no paramour shall ever join me there."

He sighed again, lids dropping closed as he admitted, "In truth, at this moment I cannot imagine any but yourselves by my side...but the House of Eorl must continue to the next generation." Éomer opened his eyes, and his gaze roamed from Elladan to Elrohir, studying their faces, already mourning the loss of them from his life.

His lips curved wistfulness. "No whelp of Éowyn's---no matter how beloved---can fulfill this task. For the Eorlingas deserve heirs of their own, raised to race the wind across the plains and fill Meduseld with their laughter...not a sullen prince forced by duty to dwell in Edoras, but ever yearning for the Ithilien forests that would be his true home."

Éomer's shoulders straightened under the weight of the future, and his own responsibility to it. "So in time there will be a new queen of the Mark. And I will not dishonor my future wife by inviting others into our marriage bed."

His head bowed in relief as both Elrohir and Elladan clustered close once more, foreheads pressing against his brow. It seemed the tension drained from them all at once, leaving them leaning against each other to keep upright. On each side a strong arm rose to curl about his shoulders, cradling him in an embrace that let his lovers' scents mingle with his own. They held still, soft breaths stirring each other's hair.

It was Elrohir who broke the silence. "I suspect your heart will be lonely as well." He lifted his head, cupped a hand under Éomer's jaw. "Take care not to mistake the yearning for company for the completion of true mates."

Éomer blinked in surprise, felt Elladan's grasp tighten on his shoulder as Elladan pushed his face beside Elrohir's, expression solemn. "Aye, we would have your word on this, Éomer: There dwells somewhere in Middle-Earth a woman to quicken your loins, make your heart dance, and your spirit soar." 

He softened, leaning in to nuzzle Éomer a moment ere drawing back. "Give yourself the time to find her---do not settle for anyone less."

Éomer nodded once, then pressed a kiss to each set of lips in turn to seal the promise.

As he lifted his mouth from Elrohir's, his hair was seized in a fierce grip. Elrohir growled against his lips, "But that is for the future. Tonight you are here and you are *ours*."

He slanted his mouth in a claim upon Éomer's. This kiss probed, sucked, and nipped, demanded Éomer's eager counter to every move of Elrohir's. Desire reawakened in Éomer in a rising flood of want---he could feel the blood rushing through his veins to pool in his loins.

The fingers of Elrohir's free hand caressed Éomer's throat as Éomer clutched at Elrohir's waist, holding him close and feeling the press of Elrohir's arousal against his own through his robe and Elrohir's clothes.

He gasped into Elrohir's mouth as Elladan's fingers wormed between their bodies, working loose the fastenings of Éomer's robe as Elladan pressed close to his back, roused cock a firm presence against Éomer's buttocks.

Elrohir's tunic slid against Éomer's bared skin as his robe opened further with the glide of Elladan's hands down his body. His breath choked as Elladan ran teasing fingers along Éomer's navel, cupping his arousal through the robe, sliding the cloth over heated flesh in a delicious friction. His hips shot forward of their own accord, seeking more.

Éomer lost track of the kiss, yielding to Elrohir's dominion over his mouth, his lips widening to emit gasps and whispered moans. At a tug on his sleeves, he released his hold on Elrohir to let his robe slide completely free to drop to the floor. His arms encircled Elrohir's waist, gathering him close once more.

He grunted, body jerking in shock at the warm, wet slide of Elladan's tongue along his cleft. His instinctive move to escape was brought up short by the clamp of Elladan's hands on his hips, holding him in place. Elladan's palms pressed into his buttocks, thumbs spreading the crease to expose hidden flesh to the air and Elladan's gaze.

A flush of embarrassment joined the heat of desire in Éomer's body, the sounds from his throat mingled protest and pleasure as Elladan continued to tongue his opening, the flicks and stabs in this most sensitive of places causing him to shiver uncontrollably, hands clutching at Elrohir to keep steady on his feet.

Elrohir finally released his hair and mouth, but Éomer was given only a moment's respite. With the swift dive of a hawk Elrohir began to kiss and lick along Éomer's throat and chest. Long, slim fingers and the fall of dark hair caressed his skin and set it to tingling. A hoarse shout escaped Éomer's lips when teeth pinched his left nipple in a sharp bite.

Éomer groaned, his torso arching into the sensation. His hands shifted to Elrohir's shoulders, his fingers twisting into Elrohir's tunic as the mouths on his body continued their torment. His world narrowed to his lovers---their scents, their hands, their mouths, and their bodies holding him up as he swayed in their grasp.

Then Elladan moved, tongue now painting a slow stripe up the length of Éomer's spine as Elladan rose to standing. Fingers wrapped around Éomer's biceps, pulling Éomer's hands from Elrohir. As if the move had been choreographed, Elrohir's sharp-edged attentions trailed down Éomer's midriff and belly as Elrohir sank to his knees. A light sweat coated Éomer's body as his breath came in harsh pants.

Only when Éomer's eyes opened did he realize that they'd closed at some point under his lovers' ministrations. Éomer looked down at Elrohir as a thumb pressed into the faded bruise left by Elladan some days ago. Gray eyes looked past his own, and Éomer's jaw dropped at the mischief crossing Elrohir's features ere Elrohir nodded---and struck.

Éomer arched with a loud cry as teeth sank into his flesh---Elrohir's into Elladan's mark by his hip, Elladan biting the juncture of Éomer's neck and shoulder in the spot originally chosen by Elrohir.

Elladan's hands kept his arms pinioned, while Elrohir's grip tightened on his hips. Holding him in place as he tried to move---unknowing if he wanted to move closer or away, writhing without thought or volition, unable to hold still as they sucked and gnawed at his flesh, leaving their marks upon him once more. In the midst of it, Elrohir's hand wrapped around his cock, cruelly squeezing at the base.

Éomer shuddered, limbs jerking at the jolt of sensation. When they finally released him, he sagged against Elladan, body trembling and breath unsteady. As dizzy and enervated as if he'd just spilled his seed, but his cock still throbbed hard and heavy between his legs. Yet there was now no urgency to his desire, as if he'd reached a plateau and was content to linger there awhile.

Elrohir's gentle laps against the red and swelling bite at his hip made him shiver, and he tilted his head in offering to Elladan as he felt his hair brushed aside to bare his unmarked nape. Elladan did not hesitate, and Éomer sighed at the kisses pressed there, one at a time, deliberately placed and spaced. The pauses in between were the merest of moments yet stretched to infinity, as Éomer's very skin yearned for the touch of soft lips.

He smiled down at Elrohir, wondered if his expression was as unformed as his thoughts. Elrohir stroked his hips, thumbs mapping the edges of the thatch of hair that surrounded his manhood. Éomer shifted his hand to card his fingers through Elrohir's hair, strands silk-fine and soft slipping through his fingers.

Elrohir captured Éomer's hand as he rose, pressing a kiss to the palm. "Come, bright king, to bed with you for other pleasures."

Éomer had a moment of disorientation as he was swept up in Elladan's arms. A flush rose again to his face as he was borne like a bride to the bed. Ere his mind---his pride---could even begin to form a protest, he was deposited with care in the center of the coverlet. As Elladan's arms slid out from under him, his limbs sprawled slightly in pleasant lassitude, his cock beginning to seep a spot of clear fluid onto his navel.

The hungry gazes of Elladan and Elrohir never left him as they stripped, graceful even in their rush to shed boots and garments. He licked his lips at the sight of their handsome forms and proud cocks, storing the sight of them in his memory for the years to come.

Elladan finished first and slid a knee upon the bed, dragging himself up Éomer's body as Éomer arched into the contact with a long hiss. His legs parted to welcome Elladan within the cradle of his thighs, arms wrapping around Elladan's slender torso to run his hands down the long back cloaked in silken hair.

A jab in his shoulder made Éomer grunt, but then Elladan was settling his elbows to the mattress, fingers flicking through Éomer's beard. Gray eyes so close to his were glittering once more. "Éomer, we seek a pleasure from you that you have yet to offer or allow."

Éomer let the rise of his brows ask the obvious question. Elladan stole a quick kiss, then answered, "We would take you together, both of us seated within your sheath at once."

The twitch of his cock and spasm of his portal made Éomer shiver at the thought. "Is such a thing even possible?" He had learned much of relations between more than a pair of lovers these past days. And such joinings were the stuff of bawdy tales on long patrols, but Éomer had never known of a man---or a woman, for that matter---attempting such a configuration.

Elrohir's chuckle preceded his weight upon the bed. He reclined beside them on his right elbow, deft fingers of his free hand toying with Éomer's hair. "Yes, though in truth it is a rare mating." He smiled at Éomer ere dipping his head for a kiss of his own. "I will not promise there will be no pain, but I can assure you it will be overwhelmed by pleasure."

"Then you've traveled such a path ere now?" Éomer's eyes flicked from one face to the other, and was surprised to see no confirmation from either one. Surprised, but pleased as well, that no other lover had preceded him in this.

"No..." Elladan finally admitted, his body shifting over Éomer's. "But we most desire this gift from you."

Éomer leaned up to press a kiss to Elladan's lips, then turned and crooked his arm to snag Elrohir's chin, bringing him down to meet his mouth. "Aye," he said, consciously relaxing into the mattress and his lovers' care.

Though he almost tensed again at the wicked smile that widened Elladan's mouth. Without a word he rolled, bringing Éomer with him to stretch out on their sides, Elrohir instantly shifting to press close to Éomer's back.

Ere he could even draw breath to ask a question, Elladan's mouth was sealed over his own. Tongue teasing his palate and tangling with his own in an intimate dance. He moaned and spread his hands over Elladan's back, holding him close as Elrohir's slick fingers probed at his opening.

He bent his top leg, draping it over Elladan's hip, offering Elrohir greater access to do as he willed. While Elladan continued to explore Éomer's mouth, clever hands wandered his torso. Distracting him with teasing scrapes and gentle caresses.

Elrohir's forehead pressed into Éomer's shoulder blade as his fingers delved deeper, spreading slickness and twisting their way into Éomer's sheath. Éomer's hips jerked each time Elrohir found the point of pleasure buried within Éomer's core.

Time passed in the flicker of candle flames and the draw and release of hasty breaths, rough sounds escaping Éomer's lips whenever Elladan left his mouth to lick at his throat.

Finally he felt Elrohir withdraw his fingers with a last kiss to Éomer's shoulder. He twisted his head to glance at Elrohir, but found himself being turned to his back and raised to sitting by two sets of gentle hands.

Elladan's fingertips upon his cheek turned Éomer's attention to him to accept a chaste kiss. Then Elladan was sliding past him to settle against the headboard, legs spread and flat against the mattress, cock full and leaking.

Éomer's arm jerked as his wrist was lifted and a small amount of oil poured into his upturned palm. A quick glance at Elrohir confirmed that only Elladan needed tending. Éomer reached around and grasped Elladan's cock, enjoyed the feel of the firm flesh within his fist as he slid the oil up and down the turgid length, thumb slicking the tip.

He smiled as Elladan's head fell back with a wanton groan. Éomer continued his attentions a few moments more, until Elladan dipped his head to growl and dig firm fingers into Éomer's wrist. "Enough."

Éomer snorted---he was certain this tiny amount of teasing was no recompense for the torment Elladan had already wrought this night---but with a last twist he released Elladan's cock.

He let himself be guided to his knees. Then he turned his back to Elladan, straddling slim hips and shifting until he felt blunt pressure against his opening.

"Mount me, horselord." Elladan's murmur was accompanied by the press of his chest to Éomer's back, the clasp of his hands on Éomer's hips guiding him down upon the slick shaft. Elrohir took his hands to steady him, and Éomer tightened his grip at the breach.

Éomer moaned and froze as partway down two fingers speared him, one on each side of Elladan's cock, stretching him further. He glanced at Elrohir to see wide eyes cast down, rapt upon the joining of Éomer's body and Elladan's. He tugged at Elrohir's slack hands, let out a shaky breath. "I await you."

"Yes." The word hissed from Elrohir's mouth as he slid forward, shifting his knees beneath the spread of Éomer's thighs. Éomer released Elrohir's fingers and rested one hand upon Elrohir's shoulder, the other finding purchase on Elladan's hip.

Then there was a stretch and fullness that had Éomer's head falling back, body quivering as Elladan's fingers withdrew and Elrohir's cock joined Elladan's within. The feeling was beyond words, completion and abundance and an intense pleasure created by the unrelenting press of his lovers' flesh against and inside him.

Elladan's mouth found again the bite he had left earlier, worrying it, making Éomer shake with the added stimulation. His breath caught when Elrohir's mouth latched onto his chest, licking at the sweat coating it. His eyes closed as he sank into the whirl of his overwhelmed senses, his fingers digging into his lovers' flesh as he sought some balance.

Elladan's voice held no trace of elven serenity as he growled, "Ride, Éomer."

Éomer's eyes opened to Elrohir's nod, to a face drawn with tension as Elrohir raised slick hands to stroke Éomer's flanks. Éomer gathered himself, muscles in his legs bunching as he raised up, then sank back down upon his lovers' cocks, feeling his body stretching anew to accommodate this intimate invasion. He moaned at the movement, at the rub of Elrohir's soft skin against his cock, at the strength of his lovers within and encircling him. Enfolding him within this special embrace.

Elladan's hands moved to Éomer's thighs to aid him in posting. The rise and descent drew moans not only from Éomer as the joining seemed to build pleasure with every stroke. He stared into Elrohir's wide eyes, felt Elladan's breaths damp against his neck, their nails digging into his skin as he continued to move. Éomer wished that he could somehow capture this moment, to live in the clasp of his lovers for all his days.

But that was not to be, and his body would not be denied its release. Muttered curses fell from his lips as the tension spiraled within him, tightening at every turn. Still he rose, still he sank, until finally he could bear no more. His back arched as he groaned in ecstasy, the jolts of pleasure locking his muscles, clenching his sheath around the flesh that filled it.

Elrohir held him up as Elladan's hands gripped his thighs, holding him open as the two strained against and within him, fierce thrusts forcing their seed deep within his core. Each stroke made him moan as his senses were overtaken again and yet again, his lovers gifting him with pleasure that lasted long, so long that it walked the edge of pain.

Finally, finally, Elladan and Elrohir collapsed against him, chests heaving. Éomer joined their slump, an exhausted whimper escaping his lips unashamed as he patted at pale flesh slicked with his sweat.

Elrohir smiled and kissed him, then gripped his hands once more, holding him steady as Elladan's clasp on his hips guided him up, their spent lengths slipping from him.

Éomer fell to the bed and stretched out with a groan, uncaring of his ungainly sprawl or the seed trickling from his body. His eyes slid closed upon Elladan's sated gaze as he too, claimed a kiss.

For some while Éomer drifted in the aftermath, enjoying the soreness that his lovers' claims had left upon him. He smiled at the feel of soft, wet cloths and gentle caresses upon his skin. Allowed Elladan and Elrohir shift him as they wished as they cleansed and cared for him.

His eyes opened at the slide of arms beneath him. As he looked up, he realized this time Elrohir had lifted him. He sighed and nuzzled Elrohir's neck, resting his head on a graceful collarbone as he watched Elladan swiftly set the bed to rights.

As Éomer was laid between the clean sheets, he grabbed Elrohir's wrist, sat up to snag Elladan as well. With a quick pull he tumbled them both into the bed for his kiss, one after the other. "My thanks," he murmured. Then he released them and flopped to the mattress.

As they stretched out and laid their heads upon his chest, Éomer wrapped his arms around them, clutching them close. Knowing that come the dawn his bed---and heart---would be lonely indeed.

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Morning came all too swiftly. By the time Éomer stirred, both Elladan and Elrohir were dressed, standing on either side of the bed looking down at him.

He made to rise, but Elladan's palm in the center of his chest kept his back to the mattress. Elladan's sharp smirk now held an edge of sorrow. "Do not think to farewell us upon the terrace of Meduseld as you would any other guest."

Suddenly his mouth was angry and hungry upon Éomer's, demanding, claiming...for a time they held thus, Elladan's hand upon his chest and his hands clutching dark sleeves.

But with a slow lick of Éomer's lips, Elladan finally withdrew and rose to his full height once more. "You have proved yourself a match for me, horselord...and there are not many who can claim that honor."

But then his expression softened as he stroked a gentle hand along Éomer's cheek. "Knowing you, Éomer, has been an honor and a joy. Be well." With a last brush of fingertips, Elladan pivoted and stepped toward the door. When he reached it he waited, hand upon the bar.

Éomer turned his head as Elrohir stepped up to regard him. "Dear Éomer, the moon's light may call us to your mind, but you will ever be the summer sun, turning all the world to bright and blazing gold."

Then appeared the bow-curved smile that had warmed Éomer's heart from the instant they met. "You are the marshal who stood fast against the darkness, and you will lead your people back to days of glory." Elhrohir leaned down to press a kiss to Éomer's lips, laid another upon his brow, and whispered, "Never doubt yourself, bright king."

Éomer watched Elrohir join his brother, saw them turn back to stare at him a moment that paused breath and time itself.

He didn't see them open and pass through the door through the blur of unshed tears.

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Éomer's eyes closed as he laid his cheek against the top of Éowyn's head, breathing in the scent of her sun-warmed hair, her face pressed to his armored chest. His arms tightened about her shoulders. "How I have missed you, little sister."

Her fingers tightened at his waist. "And I've missed you." She shifted back to stare as one hand reached up to stroke his face, brushing the edge of his beard.

"Not so much, I think." He offered her a teasing smile as he removed his helm. "Though I've no doubt you occasionally roused yourself from the haze of connubial bliss to spare a thought for your poor bachelor brother."

Éowyn's smile blazed as bright as midday ere she gave him a smirk he knew of old. She grabbed his free hand to tug him along on a tour of the new-built stables of her home. Éomer felt something within him ease at the reassurance that marriage to Faramir suited her very well indeed. Her glow of happiness had not diminished in the months since her wedding, and it gladdened Éomer's heart to see his sister so content.

His own hopes in that area had yet to come to fruition. It had been more than a year since he'd bid farewell to Elladan and Elrohir. He missed them, but did not yearn for them. Elladan and Elrohir held a special place in his heart and memory. But he knew their time together had past and he must look to the future. 

He was still looking. Despite the grumblings of his council, he'd kept his promise not to settle for anyone less than a true match, body, heart, and spirit.

Many a comely maid and matron had made their way to Edoras to meet the new king. While they eyed him with favor, none had kindled his interest. They were gorgeous or merely pretty, sultry, shy, or saucy, wise or witless...but none had held his attention for more than a brief moment of time.

The intimate company of men, too, had lost its allure. He still spent much time with his friends, true enough, but no muscular form or handsome face stirred him to more than an appreciation of masculine beauty. It seemed his body agreed with his heart that there was no man he wanted if he couldn't have Elladan and Elrohir.

He had no inkling of their whereabouts, and did not know when they would meet again. Perhaps the twins would return to Gondor to greet Aragorn and Arwen's first born when he or she finally made an appearance. 

On occasion he would ponder his former lovers' choices and fates. Perhaps they would someday put aside their concerns and sail to the West, or seek the final rest of mortal men. But he liked to think of them content to wander where they would, standing strong against whatever form that evil would take in a Middle-Earth where Sauron no longer held sway.

Éomer wished for them every happiness. Even the company of new lovers to comfort their nights and brighten their days with joy and laughter.

As if hearing his thought, a hearty guffaw sounded from a stall at the other end of the corridor running the length of the stable. Two rough-dressed figures stepped into the muted light, and Éomer recognized Faramir as one. The other must have been the source of the ribald laugh---the sound was high enough to be female, though Éomer had never heard such an uninhibited sound from a woman of Gondor.

And this female was most definitely Gondorian. Dark hair was falling out of a once-neat braid, tangling on either side of a high-boned cheek. The slant of nose and brows hinted at elven blood, but the thickness of the woman's waist, the pleasing roundness of hip and thigh marked her a daughter of Man.

As Faramir and his companion approached, Éomer was surprised to see the young woman's chin was smudged---and that in truth, her features were quite ordinary. Yet he found himself drifting forward to meet them...to glimpse more closely the woman's most remarkable eyes. Not in their shape or color---a rather dull grayish-blue---but in the light of intelligence and laughter---life itself---that shone within them.

Éomer barely noticed Faramir and Éowyn sharing a glance ere Faramir cleared his throat. "Brother, I'm sure this isn't quite what Imrahil had in mind for an introduction, but I want you to meet my cousin, Lothiriel of Dol Amroth."

Lothiriel smiled and placed her hand in Éomer's.

Éomer smiled as well.

THE END

**Author's Note:**

> Comments are welcomed with great joy and constructive criticism is treasured as a rare gift.


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